Constant
by njborba
Summary: Emily is curious about how some text messages she's received might figure into a case the team is working on. But she's more curious about Derek's odd behavior.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, _Criminal Minds_.

**This story has been stuck at the back of the line for a while and decided it was tired of waiting patiently... starts a bit slow, but bear with me?**

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><p><strong>Constant<strong>

Part 1

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

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><p>Emily keyed her lock, pushed the door open and flipped on the entry hall light. She then leaned against the door jamb and faced her date. Mick Rawson stared at her desirously, causing her stomach to flop, but not in a good way. The date had gone reasonably well, but she wasn't sure why she'd invited him up to her place. Had it really been so long that she was desperate. Not that Mick Rawson was anything to be ashamed of, his charm and boyish good looks matched with low-slung jeans and a sexy accent did provide a certain allure.<p>

And he had saved her life.

But there was still something off about him, and it was more than just his inflated ego. She'd dealt with plenty of those before. It was something she couldn't pinpoint, but something she didn't much care for. With second thoughts firmly in place, Emily smiled demurely and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "Thank you for dinner. It was very nice," she pulled away, taking a small step inside her condo and hoping that he'd get the hint.

"Nice?" the man looked hurt. "I thought surely it had been at least enjoyable. Nice is just a polite American term for bugger off."

"Not when I say it. It was a very pleasant evening," she insisted. "But I really feel like it should end here. I'd like you to go now."

"I don't think you want me to leave yet," the man persisted. He leaned against the opposite side of the door frame and reached out to gently caress her cheek. "Because I keep getting the feeling that you're saying things you don't really mean. You seem a little frightened of pursuing this obvious attraction between us."

She sighed, growing frustrated and running out of politeness. "I called you back last week and I spent the evening with you tonight," Emily pointed out. "The date is over, though. You were kind enough to walk me up here, but this is where it ends."

"It would be much more fun if I stayed," Mick said as he leaned in for a kiss.

"I believe she said she wanted you to leave," a voice interrupted.

Emily pulled away from her date and spotted Derek standing in the hall just behind them. She didn't think she'd ever been happier to see the man, though she was surprised. She was also a little concerned by Morgan's appearance, the haggard look in his eyes and the forward slump of his shoulders. And the odd fact that he was holding a duffle bag in one hand. Her date didn't seem perturbed by the interruption, though. In fact, he actually extended his hand in greeting.

"Derek Morgan, I never forget a name," the accented man intoned.

Morgan stared at the hand but didn't shake. "Mike, right?"

"Uh, Mick," the other man replied, dropping the outstretched hand to his side.

"Right," Morgan replied dismissively.

Mick also noticed the bag Derek had grasped at his side. "Is this a case thing?"

"Yes," Derek's answer was short as he continued to glare at the man.

"Say no more then." Mick turned his attention back to Emily briefly. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable just now. You can't blame a feller for trying, though, can you? I'll call you soon," he insisted. "We should do this again." With a wave and a slight bounce in his step, Mick turned and retreated down the hallway.

Morgan's head shook. "What a…"

"Jerk," Emily cut him off.

"Excuse me?" Derek wasn't surprised she'd said the word, but rather unsettled by the way she'd been starring straight at him while saying it.

She scoffed, entering the condo while tossing her purse and keys onto a table by the door. "You were completely rude to him," Emily clarified. "You could've shaken his hand. And what was with that Mike comment? You worked with the man," she reminded him.

"You asked him to leave, Emily. And he wasn't leaving," Morgan recalled. "In my book that makes him the rude one."

A sigh escaped her lips. Emily didn't even know why she was upset. She'd been the one wanting to cut the date short, and Derek had actually provided the perfect excuse. "Never mind, I'm just going to grab my duffle bag," she said, making her way toward the stairs.

"Why?" Derek asked.

The level of frustration he was causing her at the moment belayed any happy feeling of seeing him a few minutes ago. "Because we have a case, right? I'm assuming that's why you're here," but even as the words left her mouth she realized something wasn't right. He wouldn't show up at her door with a go bag if they had a case. Headquarters usually called to notify them of any case that cropped up while they were at home. "But that makes no sense, because JJ would have notified me," she voiced the thoughts aloud. "So… why are you here?"

Without looking her in the eye, Derek replied, "My place is being fumigated. I thought maybe I could crash here tonight?"

Something about him was completely off in Emily's opinion, and more than just the exhaustion she saw in his eyes. But then, her whole evening had felt off; going on a forced date with Mick mainly because JJ had pushed her into it, and Mick pressuring her. "I should have just gotten the cat," she mumbled, kicking off her shoes. "My extra room is actually an office, so you can take my bed," she offered. "I'll sleep down here on the sofa."

"I don't want to kick you out of your bed, Emily," he protested. "I can crash on the sofa."

"Just take the bed, Morgan. It's fine," she insisted. "You're too tall to fit on my sofa and you look exhausted, so just…" Emily waved a hand toward the stairs. "Make yourself at home. I have clean towels in the linen closet if you want to shower," she concluded, as if she had house guests every day.

As she watched Derek take slow, almost painstaking, steps up the stairs, her curiosity surged. And worry settled in her stomach. She did her best to shake it off as she locked her front door and made sure all other doors and windows were secure. It was the same routine she partook of when home. The job had made her overly cautious. With the condo in order, Emily realized she didn't have anything to wear or cover up with downstairs. So she headed up to her room.

"It's just me," she announced, softly knocking on her half-closed bedroom door. "You decent?"

Emily pushed the door in after not receiving any sort of answer from her co-worker. She walked inside to find Derek sprawled on the bed atop the covers with all his clothes on. Even his shoes remained fastened to his feet. But he appeared to already be asleep. Emily tiptoed to her bathroom and grabbed a few items. Then she plucked some pajamas from a dresser drawer as quietly as possible. She walked the items out to the hall, but she dropped them on the floor and re-entered her room a moment later.

Derek was snoring softly as she approached the bed. Even though he'd been a jerk, there was no way she'd allow him to sleep in his shoes, especially not when he was clearly dead tired. No cases had been pestering them for a while now; a while meaning a week, which was actually a long stretch for them. So the mystery of his exhaustion continued to plague her as she carefully eased each boot from his feet. It wasn't until she grabbed a throw blanket to toss over him that she spotted the bruises on the knuckles of both his hands.

"What's going on with you?" she whispered, pulling the blanket up to his chest.

She quietly left the room and picked up her pile of things from the floor before heading downstairs. With the sudden realization that it was probably one of his project houses that had caused the bruising on his hands, Emily relaxed a little. She changed, brushed her teeth at the kitchen sink and then curled up on the sofa with a folded sheet and a soft blanket. Her eyes caught sight of the night sky outside the largest window in her living room. A scattering of stars twinkled for her.

But a vibrating cell phone interrupted the tranquil moment. She reluctantly grabbed it from the coffee table. Emily figured it was probably Mick leaving her a message. In fact, she wouldn't have put it past the man to make her a booty call. But as she pulled up the text her eyes narrowed. "I know who you are," she read, "I know you were with him tonight. Leave him alone. He's mine, and I will love him all the days of my life."

Emily contemplated the message for a second and then chuckled. "Got to love the random wrong number text," she said, tossing her phone back onto the coffee table and thinking someone in the world was a wee bit jealous and possessive. That thought actually made her happy to be single.

Her eyes contentedly focused on the stars again before she fell asleep.

xxx

Emily knocked against her bedroom door, but she didn't bother waiting for a response before entering her own room. Derek was still sprawled on the bed, her afghan covering his legs only. She carried two mugs of coffee inside and sat one down on the nightstand. "Rise and shine, Morgan," she greeted.

"What time is it?" he questioned, rolling onto his left side and reaching for the coffee.

"Seven thirty. And you need to suck that coffee down fast and get changed," Emily instructed. "We have a crime scene to visit in Annandale. A woman was murdered last night; local police think it might be connected to another case from a week ago. We're supposed to be there in fifteen minutes," she concluded.

"I need a shower," he replied.

"So do I, but we don't have time," Emily let him know.

"We could save time and shower together," he suggested.

She laughed, glad that he seemed to be in better spirits after a good night's sleep. "In your dreams, big guy," Emily continued the long tradition they had of playing a harmless game of cat and mouse. It had started shortly after her arrival at the BAU, when they'd openly flirted over their mutual love of Vonnegut. And Derek had carried it further throughout the years, from hoping for a dip in her hot tub to shooing off Reid one night when the three of them had gone out for dinner.

It was playful, but she knew it could never go anywhere. At least that's what she kept telling herself.

"You're no fun, Prentiss," Morgan groaned as he took a swig of coffee, stood and promptly removed the t-shirt he'd slept in.

He was about to unzip his jeans when Emily put up a hand. "Hold on there a second, Mr. Exhibitionist. Let me grab some clothes before you start stripping."

As she hurriedly gathered clean underthings and outerwear, Derek stood watching her. He finished his coffee and tried not to laugh at the uncomfortable grimace on her face. "Would it really be that terrible?" he asked, "The two of us in a room together… naked?"

Emily spun around to face him. "I don't know what's going on with you, showing up late at my place when you could have gone to Reid or Rossi or even Garcia. Chasing off my date, collapsing like you'd just run a dozen marathons back-to-back and then waking up to be all… flirty with me." She finally caught her breath. "If there's something you need to get off your chest, I'm a pretty good listener," Emily offered. "Otherwise, we need to keep things work related."

Derek stared at her for a long moment, crushed by her final words. But he also realized what a mess he'd been last night. "I'm sorry I was a jerk last night," he openly apologized, "And this morning. You're right; we have a job to think about."

A curt nod came from her before she fled the room, planning to change in the small powder room downstairs.

They were out the door ten minutes later, refilled coffee mugs in hand. Derek offered to drive, hoping to smooth over some of the tensions from earlier. Emily agreed, though she began to regret it when they arrived at the murder site. Hotch and JJ watched as they exited Derek's SUV, eyes aimed and curious. She and Morgan decided it best not to even touch on the subject. "What have we got?" Derek asked.

"Thirty-eight year old female, Caucasian, brunette," Hotch began as he led them toward the townhouse. "Single, lives alone, neighbors called 911 at about three this morning. They claim to have heard screaming and then a gunshot several minutes later."

Inside the house, everything was immaculate. No dust, no clutter, not a single thing out of place. The front and back doors hadn't been tampered with. No broken windows. The gang trudged upstairs to the victim's room. It told a very different story. Blood covered a large area of the bed, broken candles and glass littered the hardwood floor. "Kayla Francis was a successful architect at a nearby firm. Well known for her design work on the new elementary school six blocks away," JJ informed them.

"Actual cause of death?" Emily asked.

"Not sure yet," Hotch replied. "I sent Reid and Dave to talk with the ME."

Morgan poked around the room. "Anyone see our guy leave the house after the gunshot?"

"A shadowy figure dressed in black," JJ answered, having gone over the police reports already.

Emily nodded. "Good and vague, just the way I like my eyewitness testimony," she commented derisively. Something caught her attention by the door that led to the attached bathroom. There was a smear of blood on the knob. She used a gloved hand to open the door, which swung inward. Emily then stepped inside the bathroom, gave it a quick sweep but found nothing. Then she decided to peek behind the door. "Might want to take a look at this," she called to the others.

The four of them crowded into the bathroom and read the bloody message on the back of the door. "To join these two people…" Derek's brows bunched. "What is that about?"

"Familiar," JJ mused. "But I don't get the two people reference with only one victim."

"I have two other cases that might help it make more sense," an unfamiliar voice joined their conversation. The team moved back into the bedroom to greet the tall blonde-headed detective. "Greg Henderson," he introduced himself, handing a file to Hotch. "Lead detective on the first case from a week ago. Well, what I thought was the first case, anyhow. You'll want to review both these cases."

Hotch frowned. "I thought you said there was only one case possibly similar to this?" he questioned.

"Just happened to double check this morning and found another case in Baltimore that could tie into our two," Henderson replied. "It occurred six weeks ago. You should look at the pictures," he pointed to the file.

Opening it, Hotch gazed at another door painted with red lettering. "We are gathered here today," was all it said.

Derek glanced over Hotch's shoulder as he flipped to the second picture. "Dearly beloved," he read the bloody words on yet another door. "Isn't that…"

"Wedding ceremony vows," Emily nodded. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join these two people," she strung the three messages together. "Were the other victims couples?" she asked. "Maybe there was a man here last night that got away from our UnSub," she proposed.

"Doubtful," Hotch spoke. "The other two victims were also single white females, about the same age. Alicia Witt was thirty-seven. Candace Jennings was thirty-nine," he revealed. "Both victims were sexually assaulted, cut numerous times with a small blade and then shot in the head." He looked to the rest of the team. "My guess is Dave and Reid will discover the same thing about Kayla Francis."

"How about fingerprints in the bloody words?" Morgan asked.

"Nothing," Henderson replied. "No prints of any kind, anywhere. Guy must wear gloves," he shrugged.

Prentiss remained focused on the text itself. "The vows have to be very significant, why else would someone write them? Our UnSub could have been jilted, or somehow stung by his wife or fiancé," she suggested.

"Possible divorce," Hotch added. "He could be upset at her for breaking the vows they made to one another." He turned his attention to Morgan. "Get Garcia on this right away."

Morgan nodded and dialed. "Hey, baby girl," he greeted, switching to speaker phone mode.

"Whatever can I do for you today, kind sir," Penelope drawled in an overly dramatic fashion.

He grinned and caught Emily's eye, noticing that she was keeping a close watch on him. Derek still felt bad for his changeable mood and resultant interactions with her, but they really did need to focus on work at the moment. "I need you to run some names," he rattled off the three women for her. "Pay particular attention to previous marriages, broken engagements, restraining orders from any guy they may have dated," he suggested.

"Got it," Garcia quickly replied. "Anything else?"

"Maybe search various sets of wedding vows," Emily spoke up. "Look for any underlying meanings, symbolism. We think this guy may be taking the line, _till death do us part_, a lot more seriously than his ex-wife," she concluded.

"I've never been a fan of that part," Penelope responded. "Bringing death into your wedding vows, no matter how good natured, it just seems a little creepy. Personally, I'm all in favor of the much more optimistic version which ends with loving and cherishing all the days of your life. Now that's a keeper."

Hotch sighed. "Just see what you can find," he spurred the tech back on track before the call ended. Then he doled out further orders for the team to continue their investigation, "JJ, I want you to go with me to talk to the other victim's families. Prentiss and Morgan, I need you to speak with Kayla Francis' family. Find out if she was seeing anyone, and who else had access to her home. This guy must be known to all of them, or at least non-threatening enough for them to let him in willingly," he concluded.

As they exited the victim's home and walked toward Derek's SUV, all Emily could focus on was what Garcia had just said about wedding vows. It sparked her interest in the text message she'd received last night. "All the days of my life," she whispered. The words she'd previously dismissed suddenly seemed far too similar to their case to just be a coincidence.

"What was that?" Derek asked, having heard her mumble something as they entered the SUV.

"Nothing," Emily covered, not sure what to do with the information just yet.

xxx

"Mrs. Fisher, was your daughter engaged or in a serious relationship of any sort?" Emily asked.

The woman who sat across from them was short and slight with dyed copper hair and brown eyes. Actually, her red-rimmed eyes revealed to them that she'd been crying, notified less than an hour ago about her daughter's death. "No, Kayla is single, has been for a while now. She was the lead architect on that elementary school project, her first lead at the new firm. She took it so seriously, even supervised a lot of the construction. She loves her job," the woman paused a second, "_Loved_ her job."

"So, she hasn't even been casually dating?" Derek questioned.

Mrs. Fisher shrugged. "Not that she mentioned to me. The last relationship I know of was with Doug Peterson. Nice young man, but he didn't want anything serious."

Emily nodded. "Was Kayla ever married? I notice you don't share the same last name," she pointed out.

"She was married just out of high school to Brandon Francis," the woman spoke that name with some malice. "He got her pregnant, but she lost the baby shortly after they were married. Kayla tried to get pregnant again, because she was foolishly in love with that boy," Mrs. Fisher lamented. "They were married for three years before he just up and left."

"Left?" Morgan asked. "Where is he now?"

A head shake was the woman's answer. "Kayla never has been able to locate him. But she managed to get a judge to sign off on their divorce after Brandon had been gone for ten years," she explained. "During those years she poured herself into school and then studying for the architectural exams to be licensed in this area. That boy tarnished her first real relationship. I think it's why she hasn't dated much since. And now she never will again."

Emily placed a hand against the woman's back as she began to cry again. They stayed that way for a few minutes while Morgan went in search of some Kleenex. "Mrs. Fisher, I'm so sorry for your loss. I just need to ask you one more thing and then we'll leave you alone," Emily prompted. "Did Kayla recently make any new friends? Not necessarily boyfriends. Just anyone she might have mentioned, even a new co-worker?"

The woman wiped her nose and eyes with a tissue Derek handed her. "She did mention one friend the last time we spoke. The woman's name was Tammy, I think. I recall Kayla saying they met at a coffee shop on Tenth Street; The Mocha Jive."

"Did you ever meet this woman?" Morgan asked.

"No," her head shook again. "Why? Do you think she has anything to do with what happened to my baby?"

Derek sighed. "I doubt it, ma'am. But it's always a good idea to investigate any new acquaintances, as well as old. Do you happen to know this woman's last name? Where she works or lives?" he searched for more information.

"Sorry," Mrs. Fisher replied.

"You've helped us a lot," Emily assured the woman. "Thank you for your time," she said as she and Derek both stood. Emily noticed how small and lost the woman appeared to be, sitting alone on the sofa. "Is there anyone we can call for you?" she offered.

"Time is all I have now," the woman shook her head. "No, there's no one. My husband's been gone for many years and now Kayla…"

Emily always hated the goodbyes. They were the hardest, often times even worse than examining a dead body. The dead were able to move on. The living grieved and never stopped searching for answers. But there was really nothing more they could do for the woman at the moment. She placed a card on the glass-top coffee table. "If you think of anything else that might help, or even if you just have questions, please feel free to call us," Emily insisted.

xxx

"We have a name, Brandon Francis," Derek relayed to Hotch via cell phone. "He's Kayla's ex-husband who disappeared under some mysterious circumstances years ago."

The call was on speaker so Emily could hear as they sat huddled in Derek's SUV outside of Harriet Fisher's home. "And there's a woman Kayla Francis recently met, Tammy. No last name," Prentiss added to the conversation. "I wonder if this woman could be connected to Brandon Francis in some way… a second wife, maybe."

"I'll get Garcia to run it," Hotch conveyed. "Dave and Reid are done with the ME. We're all headed back to Quantico, meet us there," he signed off.

Emily sat back and couldn't help watching Derek for a moment, her focus on the case switching to concern for a friend in the blink of an eye. Black coffee and a new case seemed to have woken him. But she knew better. She'd known him long enough to suspect there was still something going on. "Morgan, I meant what I said earlier this morning. You know you can tell me anything, right?" she reiterated her offer.

Derek's eyes slid her way as he hesitated to start the vehicle, both hands clasped tightly around the steering wheel. He wasn't at all surprised by her words or the sentiment behind them, but he was impressed by her keen sense of timing. "I do," he replied, his thoughts tumbling backward to the last few months of his life. "Prentiss, there might be a favor I need to ask of you in the near future," he let his guard slip a little.

"Anything," she easily replied without hesitation. "What sort of favor?"

"I'm not exactly sure yet," he cryptically replied. "And I'd really appreciate it if you didn't ask questions right now."

She swallowed, her worry growing deeper. "Okay," Emily agreed, though a bit reluctantly.

He turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb, grateful of her quiet presence. Derek hadn't even felt comfortable talking to Garcia about the things swirling in his head at the moment. "I hope you understand that it goes both ways," Morgan spoke up again as he steered into the flow of traffic on the busy residential street. "I mean… you can talk to me about anything, too," he offered. "You know that, don't you?"

Emily nodded, though she wasn't yet willing to tell him about the odd message on her phone. "I do."

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><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, _Criminal Minds_.

**There really aren't enough words to thank you all properly for your kind comments, I just hope this continuation does not disappoint.**

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><p><strong>Constant<strong>

Part 2

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

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><p>Dressed in yoga pants and sweat jacket, Emily examined the Chinese takeout in her fridge. She couldn't quite recall when she'd ordered it, which was probably a good indication of its age. She sniffed it then opened it and wrinkled her nose at the mold growing on something that appeared to have once been chow mein. Or possibly pork fried rice. She promptly tossed it into the garbage can that had been set up in the middle of her kitchen especially for her Friday night refrigerator cleaning party.<p>

The can was already three quarters full of old takeout food, fruit and veggies that had gone bad due to her erratic work schedule.

"I need a life," she sighed, reaching to the back of the self for a jar of something filled with green liquid. The label said pickles, but Emily still cautiously unscrewed the lid and peered inside. "Just pickles," she relaxed, plucking a dill out by two fingers. It was still reasonably firm so she took a bite. "Not bad," she crunched; resealing the jar and placing it back inside.

She'd just finished the pickle when her cell rang. Emily kicked the fridge shut, grateful for the distraction. Until she read the caller ID and spent the next two seconds pondering what to do. "Hello," she finally answered.

"Emily," Mick's accent greeted her warmly. "Sorry I haven't called you all week. I figured I'd give you some time to miss me."

Her eyes rolled. "Nope, haven't missed you a bit," she deadpanned.

"You're a tease," he responded, not seeming thwarted by her brashness. "So, dinner tonight then… pick you up at eight?"

"No," Emily calmly replied.

"Right," Mick agreed. "Better to get an early start at it. I'll see you at seven."

The line went dead before she could say another word. "Unbelievable," Emily sighed, staring at the phone. She contemplated calling him back, but she got the feeling that would only encourage him. Best just to turn off all the lights and sit in the dark waiting for him to stop knocking when he showed up. "Great plan, Em," she grumbled to herself. "While you're at it you might want to think about growing a backbone," she scolded herself.

A knock sounded at her door and she froze. Emily glanced at the clock on her microwave. It was only a quarter to six. Way too early for Mick to show up. Unless he'd called from downstairs and wanted to surprise her. She sighed, realizing that along with that backbone she should probably throw in some magic cure for paranoia. Still, she walked toward the door as quietly as possible and looked through the peep hole without making a sound.

Her lips quirked and she breathed out in relief.

Emily tumbled the lock and opened the door for Derek. "It's just you," she stepped aside, motioning him in.

She noticed he looked completely exhausted again, same as the last time he'd shown up on her doorstep a week ago. "Thanks for that enthusiastic welcome," he replied. "Look, I hate to ask again but the fumigation they did last week didn't solve the problem," Derek let her know. "I could really use a place to crash again tonight?"

"Sure," her head nodded as she spotted his bag. Emily was more curious and less tired than last week, so she attempted to pluck a bit more information out of him. "Is this one of your properties you like to keep so secretive?"

"They're not a secret," he shrugged, dropping his bag on the floor in the hall across from the kitchen. "Just something that helps me de-stress from the job." Derek sniffed and leaned toward her. "Is that the newest in pickle perfume?" he asked.

"This project sounds like more trouble than its worth, though," Emily continued her hunt, dismissing his pickle comment. "What kind of pest are you fumigating, anyhow?"

He glanced about her kitchen, noticing the garbage can. "Hmm?"

"What are you fumigating for?" she asked again.

"Oh…" Derek moved into the kitchen and opened her fridge. "Uh…" he paused again, looking around. "Ants," Morgan finally revealed. "Don't you have any beer?" He closed the fridge and looked up with questioning eyes. "I could use a drink after this long week. That stupid wedding vow case that led us nowhere," his head shook. "And then those teenagers in Fresno," he paused, "Still can't get those images out of my head."

"I have wine," she walked to the small bottle cooler across the kitchen.

Emily could not shake the odd vibe she was getting from Derek. His answer about the ants had seemed forced. But she had no idea why he'd lie about the fumigation of ants at his place. His knuckles were healed, but he still looked rather tired. And he wasn't normally one to be haunted by a case, at least not that he'd outwardly reveal. She grabbed a bottle she thought he might like and went for the corkscrew. After a few minutes she had it opened and poured. She handed Derek a glass.

"Want to sit?" she asked.

They moved into her living room and sat on opposite ends of the sofa. Derek realized it was a pretty short couch as she'd mentioned. "I can take the sofa tonight," he offered nonetheless. "I don't want to kick you out of your bed again. I could probably sleep anywhere at this point. Even the floor if you want."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't make you sleep on the floor. Unless you cheated on me or something," Emily grinned. But he didn't smile or respond in a jovial manner at all. His eyes were down cast, his jaw set tight, shoulders slumped again. "Are you okay?" she finally asked, hoping he might open up, even though he'd asked her not to ask questions.

"Just a long week," he repeated what he'd touched on earlier.

Quiet blanketed them for a long time as they sipped wine. Emily refilled their glasses once, and then a second time. She had just settled back on the sofa when another knock came at her door. "Crap," she mumbled. "I almost forgot."

"Forgot what?" Morgan queried.

"Rawson," she sighed.

Derek was crushed for a moment. "You have a date?"

"No," Emily quickly replied. "Well, sort of… he thinks so, anyhow. I told him no, but…" she didn't get a chance to say anything more when Derek shot to his feet. For seeming so tired, she marveled at the speed with which he crossed the room and threw open her door.

"Did you not get the message before?" Morgan growled at the man standing before him. "She's not interested."

Mick stood his ground, a bunch of roses clutched in one hand. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" He looked past Derek to spot Emily walking toward the door. "Admittedly, I've been a bit pushy," Rawson spoke to her, still blocked by Morgan's girth in the doorway. "I just thought you were playing hard to get. I enjoyed our time together, but you obviously have something going on here that I probably can't compete with," he guessed.

"Wise move," Derek replied.

Emily pushed past Morgan. "It's not like that," she tried to explain, but found she wasn't exactly sure what to say. "Like I told you last week, I just think its best that we don't try to pursue this," she honestly informed him.

"Right," Mick nodded. "Well, here," he handed her the pink roses. "I don't have much use for them."

With that he turned and walked away.

Derek watched Emily as she closed the door and sniffed the flowers. For some reason he had a feeling not a lot of men had given her flowers, which only served to sadden him. "I'm sorry for that," he said as they walked down the hall. Emily stopped at the kitchen, grabbing a vase for the flowers. Derek went to retrieve their wine glasses from the living room. "It was rude of me to insinuate there was anything going on between us."

"I doubt he'll say anything," Emily sighed. "Not that it matters, because there's nothing going on between us. Actually, I'm glad you were here. There's something I find strange about the guy, but I'm just too damn polite to tell him off. And he's been very persistent," she admitted.

Morgan stiffened. "He never tried to…"

"No," Emily knew exactly where his mind had gone. "Not at all," she assured him.

"Good," he took a relieved breath. Derek rinsed the wine glasses in the sink then sat them out to dry. "I think I'm going to turn in early," he announced.

Her eyes widened. "It's only ten after seven. That's more than early."

"It's been a long week," he repeated. "I'm not going to bother you by being in the living room, am I? I have been told I snore a little."

She smiled at that, recalling the soft snore she'd heard from him the last time he spend the night. "Why don't you take my bed," Emily offered. "At least for now," she amended before he could protest. "I'll wake you up a little after midnight, which should give you plenty of time to rest. Then you can do battle with the sofa and I'll get my bed for the remainder of the night. Don't bother arguing, I rarely get to sleep before midnight, anyhow."

Morgan nodded. "It's a deal."

He took his leave and Emily returned to cleaning out her fridge. Her thoughts drifted from Mick to Morgan and everywhere in between. The cleaning shifted from the fridge to mopping the floor, scrubbing the sink and even wiping down cupboard shelves. The activities helped to release pent up tension she hadn't realized was there. But by midnight she was still too fired up to sleep. Emily padded past her bedroom, hearing Derek's snore from the half-opened door. She continued to the back stairs.

One of the biggest selling points to her condo had been the private stairway to the also private roof terrace. She stepped into the warm night air and inhaled deeply. The freshness of it filled her with a sense of calm. Emily situated herself onto the new chaise lounge that she'd purchased a month ago. She pulled a throw over her legs and gazed up at the sky. An array of stars greeted her. The terrace was situated somewhat away from the city lights, although there was still the occasional airplane blink mistaken for a star.

But for the most part, it was a perfect star gazing viewpoint.

Half an hour later Derek's deep, yet sleepy, voice interrupted her solitude. "I didn't even know this was up here," he said, walking toward her. Morgan spotted a large item in the corner of the space that made him smile. "So, the mystery of your hot tub location has been solved," he noted.

A slightly annoyed sigh escaped as she turned to face him. "I thought you were sleeping," she said.

"I set an alarm so we could trade off like agreed," Morgan explained, settling onto a wood Adirondack chair beside her. "Then I went looking for you and worried when I couldn't find you. Thankfully I noticed the stairway up here before calling out a search party."

"Or…" she pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her sweat jacket. "You could have just called _me_."

Derek flashed a sheepish grin her way. "Sorry," he shrugged.

She relaxed again and stared upward. "I wandered off by myself, in the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time looked up in perfect silence at the stars."

"Walt Whitman," Derek responded.

Her head turned toward him again. "Not bad." His knowledge of that quote made her a little less annoyed by his intrusion of her sanctuary.

"But I thought you agreed with me that astrology was a bunch of gibberish," he said a moment later.

"Astrology, yes," she replied. "Astronomy is a very different matter," Emily quickly added. "We moved around a lot when I was growing up, new countries, new cities, new schools and new houses. It was difficult packing up and not having much of anything be the same from one place to the next," she explained. "So, every night in a new place I would plop myself in front of my bedroom window and wait for the stars to come out. I never felt settled until I saw them."

He smiled at that. "Not so easy to see stars from a Chicago apartment."

Emily understood. "When we moved to the Ukraine we lived in the middle of a busy, compact city. I spent the first six nights there trying desperately to see some stars," she sighed. "I couldn't get to sleep for hours at night and was groggy all week long at my new school. Then, finally, on the seventh night the sky was clear and I spotted a single star twinkling up there. I slept like the dead that night and felt completely renewed in the morning."

She shrugged. "That's silly, I suppose. But the stars became my constant; the thing I looked to for stability, the thing that always made me feel at home."

"I don't think that's silly at all," he assured her. "My dad used to take me to Illinois Beach State Park, about an hour north of the city," Derek recalled. "Guys-only fishing trips, though we never caught much of anything. I think it was just an excuse my dad used to get away from the city once in a while. Mama loves the city, hates to leave it," he smiled. "The sky out there was always so huge, and the stars felt so close you could touch them. I was more of a city boy, too, but those trips were the best," he concluded.

"Because you were with your dad," she guessed. "The stars I observed in the French Alps when I would stay with my grandfather, they were the best," Emily paused. "But I think his company was what I liked the most. He was the Astrology buff. He taught me all about the night sky."

Derek nodded. "That's right. During the angel maker copycat case you identified that those puncture wounds were patterned after star formations," he recalled.

Her whole face fell and she glared at him. "Way to ruin the mood, Morgan," she threw back her blanket and stood. Emily had been glad at the time that her knowledge of the night sky had helped with that case, but it still tainted her love of the stars a little bit to think about what that man and woman had done. "I'm going to reclaim my bed now, so please lock the door up here when you come back inside," Emily instructed before taking off.

As she settled into her warm, cozy bed, Emily instantly noticed that her sheets smelled like Derek. It sent a spike of heat to her core, which she promptly tried to quell by distracting herself. She fished her cell phone out of the pocket of her sweat jacket which lay on the side of the bed. Emily was about to place it on the nightstand when she noticed a text message she'd missed. She pulled up the message and read in a whispered tone, "What part of: until death do us part, don't you understand? Stay away from him."

Two wrong messages were still within the realm of possibility. But the fact that they'd both come on a night when Rawson had been to her place did not bode well.

xxx

"How many weekends in a row have we had to work?" Reid grumbled tiredly as several members of the team filed into the conference room on a sunny Saturday morning. He sat down beside Garcia who was nursing a large paper cup filled with her favorite caffeinated brew.

Rossi sauntered into the room, appearing rather cheerful. He grinned as he poured himself a mug full of steaming coffee. "And what exactly would you do with a weekend off?" Dave asked the younger man. "Study your chess books for the thirtieth time this month?" he teased.

Spencer pretended to be hurt by the comment as Emily and Garcia shared a quiet laugh. Derek slid into the seat beside Prentiss at the round table. "I'm not sure who the bigger nerd is, Reid with his chess," Morgan's eyes turned to Emily. "Or you last night, staying up past midnight to study stars on your terrace," he recalled. It didn't take him long to see all eyes aimed his way. "I stayed at her place last night," Derek tried to clarify, but realized he'd made things even worse.

"Ants," Emily quickly tried to rectify the mess he'd created. "He has ants." She sighed, wondering why Morgan's first minimally chipper mood had come at her expense. Emily was just grateful that Hotch hadn't been there to overhear.

"I guess that's better than having crabs," Rossi chuckled.

Garcia nearly choked on her coffee. Reid looked confused. Thankfully the uncomfortable conversation ended when JJ and Hotch entered the conference room. JJ instantly pulled up images on the big screen. The first three revealed the bloody door messages from the cases they'd come to a stalemate on last week. The fourth was another door with a new message, which also appeared to be written in blood. "In holy matrimony…" JJ read.

"We have a fourth victim," Hotch needlessly announced. "Margaret Bateman. Thirty-eight years old, recently divorced, lawyer."

Emily's stomach tied in a knot as she thought about the second text message she'd received. "Same pattern?" she asked.

JJ brought up more images, this time of the dead woman. Her dark hair was matted with blood. A close-up revealed a line of small cuts along her left arm. "Sexually assaulted, then stabbed," Hotch spoke as the images continued to cycle on screen. They stopped with a shot of the woman's forehead. "Actual cause of death was a single gunshot to the head."

"Same as the others," Rossi noted with disgust.

"Those cuts," Reid leaned forward to take a better look. "They're all shallow, like on Kayla's body," which he'd had a chance to see in person. "This guy is torturing them with the knife before he shoots them. He's intentionally prolonging the process."

"He wants them to suffer," Morgan spat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"What if it's not a man we're looking for?" Emily blurted out. All eyes instantly turned her way.

"You mean a team?" Derek questioned.

"I mean a woman," she replied.

Dave's head cocked. "You think a woman would do all this? It's not typical of a female UnSub," he pointed out.

"The sexual assault strongly suggests a male UnSub," Reid concurred with the older agent.

"What about Chloe Kelcher?" Emily proposed, having recently been reminded of that case by Derek. "She was a woman and she made her murders look just like the original, even the sexual assault," she reminded them. "Our guy supposedly covers up, leaves no DNA. That could easily be a sign that our UnSub is actually a woman," Emily maintained, daring someone to shoot holes in her theory.

"A pretty sadistic one," JJ voiced.

"Prentiss does have a point," Dave jumped in. "Kelcher bludgeoned her victims with a hammer and then poked holes in their stomachs. Not entirely dissimilar to our wedding vow killer."

"We are not putting that label on this guy," Hotch warned.

Spencer cleared his throat. "But one could argue that Kelcher was only copying the angel maker's murders. The MO was never hers."

Hotch listened to both sides, but he addressed Emily. "None of what you pointed out is what lead you to think our UnSub could be a woman, is it?"

"No," she replied, still keeping mute on her text messages. "It's more about the wedding vows. How many men would put that much effort into it? Men use sex and violence as their weapons, not emotion. Guys typically show up for the wedding, but it's the women who fuss over every detail, painstakingly picking out the vows they plan to use at their ceremony."

"From that perspective, it does make some sense," Hotch cautiously agreed. He eyed Dave. "You ever write your own vows?"

Rossi's head shook. "No, I was the kind to just show up."

Emily wasn't completely sold on the idea either, but she kept rolling with it since the team was starting to be receptive. "What about Kayla Francis?" she asked. "In all these years she's never changed her last name back to her maiden name?"

"Apparently that takes a lot of paperwork and time," it was Rossi who responded again. "All the documents you have to have redone, driver's license, medical insurance cards. It's a major pain in the butt, or so one of my ex-wives told me," he shrugged.

Some of the team smiled, but Emily kept pushing. "Or maybe she never did it because she never stopped loving the guy."

"By that reasoning, haven't you just made Kayla Francis our top contender for being the UnSub?" Derek asked.

Her head shook. "Someone similar, a woman who never got over her ex leaving; someone who found a kindred spirit in Kayla and decided to help put her out of her misery. She could be turning her own pain into some angel of mercy mission. All the women's families report them having made a new friend recently. Candace Jennings met a woman named Patty. Alicia Witt's father said she mentioned a friend named Jenny. For Kayla it was Tammy. Those names all have a similar double-letter pattern."

Hotch considered it. "There's a lot of supposition in what you're saying, Prentiss. Garcia discovered that Brandon Francis is serving fifteen years in an Oregon prison. Kayla had no contact with him in nearly twenty years. She had a successful career. You spoke with her mother; she didn't mention Kayla being depressed or obsessed at all."

"No, but we can't know for sure that she wasn't," Emily continued to follow her gut. "Just because someone shows little outward sign of what they're experiencing, doesn't mean they aren't hurting," she spoke the words while trying hard not to look at Morgan. "All the victims had ex-husbands and mysterious new female friends. If we don't follow this theory then we have nothing to go on," that was the biggest worry on Emily's mind.

"Trust me, no one hates it more than I do that this case has gone unsolved," Derek tried to sympathize. "But we can't manufacture evidence or an UnSub where none exist."

"Our killer went from waiting five weeks between kills to one week. It'll escalate further," Emily persisted.

"Which might actually give us a better chance of finding him," Dave regrettably stated.

Emily sighed. "Or her," she maintained.

"For now, we interview Margaret Bateman's acquaintances," Hotch concluded.

xxx

Emily sat at her desk in the bullpen contemplating her cell phone. She still hadn't let anyone in on the secret of her text messages, even though they might make a more compelling argument toward their UnSub being a woman. JJ, Reid and Rossi had been chosen to do victim family interviews along with Hotch. She couldn't help feel snubbed by the team leader, but she tried to let it go while reviewing case files. What she needed was a second head in the game.

She jumped up and marched determinedly toward Derek's office. Her plan to solicit his help was put on hold as she accidently caught wind of a phone conversation from outside his door. "Walk away, walk away," she whispered. But her ears did the listening rather than her feet.

"I can't talk long…" Derek spoke. "No, I didn't really think it would be that easy, I just wish it could be done quietly… I know… Yes, I do have family and friends that will probably support me in this, but I just don't want to burden them with it right now… Not yet, not until I know for sure if it's… I might be able to meet later…"

Emily quickly scurried away from his door as quietly as possible. "Shit," she mumbled to herself. "How do I un-hear what I just heard?" Emily asked as she found herself outside of Garcia's lair. "Actually, I didn't hear anything, at least not anything I know the true meaning of," she tried to convince herself.

"You okay?" Garcia asked, coming up behind her friend, another cup of coffee in hand.

With a quick nod, Emily followed Penelope into the tech's sanctuary. "Garcia, I need you to find me some information on Mick Rawson?"

The younger woman grinned. "Thinking of a second date?"

"No," Emily's head shook. "I'm wondering if he might have something to do with our case," she revealed.

Penelope regarded her friend with concern. "What should I search for?"

"Anything," Emily sighed. "I also need to know if you can trace a text message?"

"Given the proper information," Garcia nodded, taking a seat. "I assume you have a number?" Emily searched her phone and realized each message had been sent from a different number. She rattled them off as Garcia typed. "Both numbers belong to TracFone accounts that have been disconnected, no names or credit card information that I can find," Penelope reported with regret. "What were the messages about?"

Emily bit her lip. "I think they might've been sent by our wedding vow killer."

"And you think it's Rawson?" an angry voice interrupted.

Both women were startled and turned to find Derek standing behind them.

Morgan's eyes blazed. "I'll kill him."

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, _Criminal Minds_.

**Thank you once again for your lovely comments. I think I may have missed responding to a few, but please know they are very much appreciated.**

* * *

><p><strong>Constant<strong>

Part 3

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

* * *

><p>His eyes never left her as she brought up the first text. "It might not be as bad as I just made it sound," Emily shrugged, handing over her phone.<p>

"So our UnSub hasn't been sending you threatening messages?" Morgan asked, even as he read them. "Our UnSub who's already killed four women. Four women who, come to think of it, bear a striking resemblance to you. Age, physicality… all of them career oriented women who are single."

For some reason Derek calling her single stung a little, like it was a scarlet letter affixed to her chest. Emily shook off the petty feelings of self-doubt and refocused. "You could be jumping to conclusions. That tends to happen to people who eavesdrop," even as the last word escaped her mouth she realized how hypocritical she'd just sounded. Her only saving grace was that Derek didn't know she'd overheard his conversation. "And I've never been married."

"Is it Rawson?" he asked, repeating the question as he dismissed her lack of continuity with the victims in one regard. "Because I'll kill him if he so much as looks at you wrong."

She sat there for a moment, dumbfounded by Morgan's irascible behavior. Her gut told her that whatever was going on with Derek lately had begun to affect his work. And that worried her all the more. "I think we can leave the pitchforks at home for now," she hoped to snuff his fire. "Besides," Emily carefully continued. "You just read the messages, right? They don't read like a male UnSub sent them. _He's_ mine. Stay away from _him_."

Morgan relaxed just a little as he realized the truth behind what she was saying. "It could be a ruse to throw us off," he pointed out. "And it also might indicate that our UnSub is a woman," he caved. "Or there could be a second UnSub, male and female working together as a killing duo," he suggested.

Emily almost smiled. "This is the kind of constructive feedback I've been wanting from you," she was grateful to finally have her partner back. "Garcia, find me something on Rawson; anything," Emily practically begged, not wanting to slow down now that Derek was behind her.

The tech had already set to work minutes ago while her friends had been arguing, her fingers typing nearly as quickly as her mind was whirring. "Huh, well… this Rawson is a bit of a ghost," Garcia revealed several minutes later as the room's sudden silence began to grate on her. "There's barely any paper trail on him."

"Then you didn't find anything?" Emily sagged against her seat.

"Oh, contraire, mes amis," Garcia held a zebra print pencil in one hand, wagging it back and forth between Derek and Emily. "I said _barely_. But, where there is even the tiniest morsel of a breadcrumb, I can Hansel and Gretel my way back to the source," the tech proclaimed.

"Meaning?" it was Derek who prodded her.

Penelope grinned as she continued to type. "British Secret Services."

"You cracked BSS records?" Emily stared at the women with equal amounts of disbelief and awe. "I was just guessing about that. Was Rawson really involved with them at some point?"

"A very fine guesses you are. He was, indeed," Garcia confirmed. "It's all very vague-ish, but I do know Rawson was recruited in 1999. He served with BSS quietly for ten years until Cooper requested him, for whatever reason. Anyhow, during those ten years with BSS, Rawson and one of his partners, Jenny Clark, had a thing that turned into a marriage. However, there is no record of Clark's activity with BSS past six years ago. I have no idea what happened to wifey-poo, but she seems to have gone poof according to BSS records."

Morgan crossed his arms. "That's it?"

"Is that it?" Garcia was insulted. "That's a heap of a lot more than any mere mortal could have sussed out for you, dearie," she replied with attitude.

"Don't mind him, Penelope," Emily spoke up. "What you found is very helpful. Thank you."

Garcia smiled. "Anything else I can do for _you_?" she aimed her question to Emily alone.

If Derek weren't standing behind them with a guard dog look on his face, Emily would've been tempted to ask the tech if she knew about what was going on with him. But she remained focused on the case. "The first murder took place eight weeks ago, right?" she watched Garcia nod. "That's when we were in San Francisco working with Cooper's team. And I worked closely with Rawson," Emily recalled.

"Yes you did," Derek spoke from behind, reminding them of his presence.

"The second murder took place three weeks ago, when I called Rawson and agreed to go out with him," Emily continued, trying to ignore Morgan.

Penelope nodded again. "Oh…kay."

"Third murder occurred the morning after your date with Rawson," Derek jumped back into the conversation.

"Hmm, not liking this pattern at all," Garcia frowned.

Emily agreed as she continued to put the pieces together. "And this latest murder occurred last night, after Rawson showed up at my place again. And the name Jenny matches the supposed friend Alicia Witt made shortly before her death." She let go of a deep breath. "This is crazy, right? Jenny or Jennifer is one of the most common names on the planet. Based on that JJ could be our UnSub. It's all just a huge coincidence," Emily tried to keep playing that tune, but it was way off key and she knew it.

"I'm not the profiler here," Garcia responded first, eyeing Derek who remained like a statue near the door. "But it seems like more than that to me. You did mention last week how pushy Rawson seemed to be," she reminded Emily.

The word pushy was not what Emily wanted Morgan to hear, especially after how he'd reacted to hearing similar tale from her just last night. Emily shook her head. "Let's all get one thing straight here. I do not, for one second, believe Mick had anything to do with this. But…"

"But he could have a jealous ex-wife," Garcia finished. "And she might have super BSS powers."

"Baby girl," Derek said. "Give us a minute, will you?" he nodded toward the door.

"You want me to leave?" Penelope looked perturbed. "But this is my…" her zebra pencil swirled about the air in front of her. "My lair is not a…"

"Please?" Morgan added.

Hearing the almost desperate tone of his voice caused her to back down. "Fine, but just…" she waved a hand toward her precious computers and monitors as she stood and walked to the door. "Try not to touch anything," she pleaded.

Garcia exited the room with one last frantic glance over her shoulder. Derek stayed rooted by the door. Emily finally extracted herself from the chair she'd been seated in. She faced Morgan with a straight face and her mind made up. "I'd like to meet with Rawson on my own," she announced.

"No, way," Derek replied. "He could try something."

"I'm a grown woman. I know how to take care of myself."

His brows furrowed more than she thought possible. "And I'm sure all our victims believed the same thing," Morgan replied.

Emily sighed, wondering why she kept trying to placate the frustrating man. "I understand that you're concerned, I even admire that quality about you. But you can be kind of…"

"What?" he was instantly on the defensive again.

"Intimidating," she didn't bother sugar coating it. "When two alpha males go head-to-head, it's not likely any answers are going to come spilling forth," Emily reasoned. "More like blood spilling," she mumbled to herself. A breath was taken. "He obviously likes me, which I can use to my advantage. I can make him feel comfortable, and maybe he'll open up to me."

Derek's jaw moved from side to side. "I don't like this."

"Really?" Emily replied with a marginal grin. "I never would have guessed."

He expelled a breath. "I'd tell you to be careful, but I'm sure you'd think I was being overprotective. So, just…" Morgan tried to find suitable words. "Do the job you're so good at."

She knew how hard it was for him to have just said those words and was grateful beyond belief that he trusted her. "I will," Emily nodded. He stood there for another few seconds and then quietly slipped out of the room. Emily breathed a little easier and began to formulate a plan of attack for dealing with Rawson.

"You really think confronting Rawson on your own is a good idea?" Garcia asked, rushing back into her office.

"Not you too, Penelope," Emily sighed. "Did he put you up to this?"

The tech shook her head. "He's worried about you... and you spent the night together?"

Emily rolled her eyes at the way Penelope had turned the subject around so quickly. "Not the way you're thinking."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?" Garcia shrugged, plopping herself down into her chair again making sure everything was unharmed. "I could be thinking you're two good friends who had a few drinks together and passed out. Innocent as can be."

"His place was being fumigated for ants, as I stated earlier," Emily tried again to quell any notion of wrong doing on her and Derek's part.

"Interesting," Penelope drew the word out to include more syllables than it actually held.

"What?"

Again the tech shrugged. "I just find it a little odd that he wouldn't stay at another of his properties."

"They're probably all in a state of construction," Emily reasoned.

Penelope shook her head. "He just put one up for sale. I assume that means its fit for human habitation," she noticed the perplexed look on Emily's face. "But maybe it's been staged and he didn't want to dirty the carpet or…" the tech could see her friend wasn't buying it either. "There are worse houseguests a girl could have," she finally grinned.

Emily's mouth hung open for a moment. "I…" she swallowed. "I need to call Rawson." With that she took her leave of the lair and wandered back to her desk in the bullpen. The call was quick, to the point, and set up an afternoon meeting with the man in question.

xxx

Sun beat down on the grassy triangle-shaped park that was wedged between two bustling city blocks.

Emily paced in front of a wooden bench that was nestled amongst a small cluster of cherry trees. The trees had lost most of their silky whitish-pink blossoms and small green cherry buds had already begun to form, slowly ripening in the warm sun of late spring. The park was just large enough for two dog walkers, a little boy kicking a ball back and forth with his father, and a young couple curled under a tree kissing while their picnic lunch grew stale.

"Hello, Emily," he greeted.

She spun around, ashamed at herself for not being more aware. "Mick," Emily managed a rough smile.

His brows arched then fell. "I have to say I was surprised to get your call. Pleased, but surprised," Rawson glanced around the area, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans. "Middle of a small park on a busy, bright day, with lots of people milling about," he went on. "Not the intimate setting I was hoping for," he admitted. "And you don't have a picnic basket with you. So, I gather this is more business than pleasure?" Mick guessed.

She nodded, "Why don't we sit." Her left hand motioned to the bench and Emily took the lead, sitting down first. When he joined her, Emily decided not to stall any longer. "We're working a case that I'm wondering if you can help us with," she regurgitated all the details to him in a short, precise manner. "I need to ask you about a woman named Jenny Clark. You were married to her, or maybe you still are?"

He was taken aback. "Well, I was certainly not expecting that," Mick smiled.

Emily interpreted his grin as a means to cover a level of discomfort. "I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important." She continued to watch him carefully. He slumped against the bench and his whole demeanor changed. He looked deflated. "Are you okay?"

A sign escaped his lips. "Jenny and I worked together and married," Mick confirmed in a controlled manner. His hands flattened against his thighs. "Six and a half years ago we were due to have a baby, but there were complications," his voice turned reflective as he stared at the grass. "I stood by her side as she gave birth to our stillborn child, then I watched as she bled to death while the doctors tried to save her life."

Suddenly feeling very foolish, Emily managed to whisper, "I'm so sorry." She believed every word that he'd spoken. Her earlier distaste of the man faded. There was no doubt in her mind that he never would've made up such a story.

Mick shrugged. "I'm sorry, too, for the way I've been acting. I guess I'm kind of off my game when it comes to flirting and dating."

Her eyes widened. "That was flirting?"

"Bit pathetic," he shook his head in a regretful manner. "Look, Emily, you're the first woman I've had any kind of interest in since Jen passed away. I've been reluctant to get back out there, you know? She was my whole life, and then…" his words tapered off. "But you showed up on that case in San Francisco and you were smart, sassy, and gorgeous. If you weren't already taken I'd try again with a bit less punch."

"Already taken?" Emily's eyes narrowed. "What gave you that impression?"

"A certain agent you work with being at your place twice when I was there," he quickly pointed out. "And the fact that he's been standing over at that coffee shop down the block watching us ever since we sat down here," Mick pointed.

"Morgan?" Emily turned to eye the coffee shop in question. Sure enough, Derek was standing there, arms crossed again. He clearly wasn't even trying to blend in. She realized he wanted Mick to know he was there. She sighed. "Look, aside from being over protective of his team," Emily turned her attention back to the man on the bench. "I thought I told you that we're not like that," she said.

"Could have fooled me," Mick replied in a knowing tone. "There's more to me than weaponry. I notice behavior just like you do. I've watched him watching you, Emily. He certainly feels there's something more going on than just a working relationship." Mick smiled. "But, if I'm wrong - if you get it sorted and discover there's really not anything between you two - feel free to ring me," he gave an exaggerated wink.

She laughed. "You really need to update your flirting profile," Emily informed him as gently as possible.

"Noted," he chuckled good-naturedly. But his jolly mood faded. "This background check you had performed on me, you thought it might be Jenny behind these murders because she was jealous of you?" Mick guessed. "And the coincidence of timing with our dates..." he was beginning to catch on. "I suppose I can see how you might've jumped to that conclusion. Are you in some kind of danger?"

Emily shrugged. "I'm not sure."

They stood, lingering beneath the cherry trees for a moment. "Watch out for yourself," he said with genuine concern. "And if you need a hand with the case," Mick offered.

"Thank you," she replied, watching as he swaggered down the block toward his vehicle.

It didn't take Derek more than a few seconds to join her by the bench. A warm breeze blew across the park. "You let him walk away?"

"Yes," she watched as the breeze caused a few remaining white blossoms to land atop his dark head. Emily tried not to laugh. "He admitted to the murders so I let him off for being so honest," she quipped. Emily noticed the glare in his eyes and felt a twinge of regret for being so flippant with him. She went on to explain what Mick had told her about Jenny and then she reached up to tenderly brush the blossoms off his head.

"Sorry, but… I'm still not ready to cross him off my list," Derek stubbornly stated. "Can I drive you back to Quantico?"

Her head shook. "You know what; it's been a very long week," Emily threw his excuse back at him. "Unless Hotch and the others have found something more to follow up on, I think I'm going to work on this from home," she let him know before walking away without another word.

xxx

There was a knock at her door. And then another.

Emily groaned as she reluctantly opened her eyes and tried to focus on the alarm clock by her bed. "Go away," she mumbled as another knock sounded downstairs.

The remainder of her Saturday had passed by in a blur of case files spread about her living room floor. Sunday had dawned sunny and bright, but she hadn't allowed herself a moments rest as she continued to spend the rest of her weekend pouring over the case. By Sunday evening she'd downed a bottle of wine, a pint of ice cream and more Chinese take out. All she had to show for it was the fact that all the victims had been entertaining the idea of selling their homes.

Another knock echoed in her head.

"Okay, okay," she pushed back covers and stumbled out of bed. Her t-shirt and shorts hung lazily against her body as she groped her way down the stairs and looked through the peep hole. "You've got to be kidding me," Emily opened the door. "Derek, do you have any idea what time it is? Nearly three in the…"

Emily stopped short when she spotted a line of stitches across his left brow. "Jeesh," she winced in sympathy. "What the heck happened to you?" she asked, ushering him inside. Derek remained quiet as he walked down the hallway beside her. "Morgan," Emily adopted a sterner tone as they reached the kitchen. "Please tell me you did not do something stupid like confront Rawson."

"I didn't," he finally spoke.

"Swear it," she looked him in the eye.

He faced her. "I swear."

Emily believed him as she brought a hand to her lips to cover a yawn that formed. "So, what _did_ happen to you?"

His head lowered a little, eyes slipping from her gaze again. "It was stupid. I was fixing a leak in the basement and a pipe burst. It actually knocked me out for a few minutes. My forehead was bleeding a lot so I decided to go to the ER and I had to sit there for nearly three hours."

"Should you really have gone back there after the fumigation?" for some reason that was the first worry to come to her mind. "Doesn't that take a while to clear out?"

"Different place," he mumbled, rubbing his head. "Do you have any aspirin?"

She went to a cabinet in her kitchen, plucked two aspirin from a bottle and then poured him a glass of water. "Here," she presented both.

He downed the pills with a healthy swig of water then placed the glass on her counter. "The doctor said I might have a concussion and I shouldn't be alone. I came here because it was the closest place to the hospital. I walked."

"It's really late, Morgan, I'm not going to kick you out. You can stay," she offered.

"Thanks, I know where the sofa is," he pointed toward the darkened living room.

She grabbed him by the arm. "Enough with offering to sleep on the sofa," Emily said. She physically turned him toward her stairway and pushed him up. They arrived at the top landing and she continued to guide him to the first door on the right; her bedroom. Emily pointed toward the bed. "Lie down, but take your shoes off first this time," she directed.

"What about you?"

"I'm way too tired to sleep on that crappy sofa," Emily replied. "It's a big bed, I'm sure we can manage to not touch one another. We both need a good night's sleep, at least what's left of the night," she remarked. "The right side is mine," Emily's tone warned as she edged toward her bathroom. "I need to pee," she let him know, feeling like an old married couple.

When she exited the bathroom a few minutes later, he was snuggled beneath the covers on the left side and she couldn't help smile. Emily suddenly had her doubts about sharing a bed with Morgan in a purely platonic manner. But she climbed in, reclined on her back, tugged the sheet up to her chest and closed her eyes.

"Emily, thank you," he whispered.

"Go to sleep," she whispered back.

Darkness engulfed her as she drifted to sleep, but morning came too soon.

Sunlight trickled in through her blinds. Emily's eyes opened with the sudden realization that there was a very warm body pressed against her side. She almost moved, but further examination of the scene caused her to detect her cheek resting against Derek's chest. "Morning," he spoke gently into her ear. She froze, hoping he'd think she was still asleep. "I can see your eyes are open," Derek chuckled.

Emily promptly pulled away, turning her back to him. "Sorry, I must have been dreaming." She very seriously considered placing a pillow over her head and suffocated herself at that moment. "Not that I dream about you often… ever," she groaned, wondering if it was possible to dig herself a deeper grave.

There was silence for a long time and Emily prayed that meant he'd fallen back asleep. But she didn't hear him snoring at all. His soft, quiet snore, which she hated to admit she liked the sound of very much. If he was awake, clearly he was trying to ignore her and pretend that what had just happened never happened. Proving to her that Rawson's observations about Morgan watching her in a manner unbefitting of a co-worker had been completely unfounded.

Derek placed a hand against her bare shoulder and rolled her over so they were facing one another. "You're beautiful when nervous," he said before pressing his lips to hers.

She closed her eyes. Emily knew it was wrong on so many levels and yet she opened to him, let him explore as she did the same; morning breath be damned.

xxx

They walked side by side through the main lobby. Emily had coffee in one hand, her bag slung over a shoulder. Their first kiss had started and ended in a matter of seconds. Then they'd showed separately, gotten dressed privately and acted like nothing had happened. Except they hadn't spoken a single word since the kiss, even as Emily had driven them to Derek's place so he could grab clean clothes, and then onward to work.

"What happened to your head?" Reid inquired as he greeted them off the elevator.

"I was working in my attic last night, stood up without looking and bashed my forehead against a beam," Morgan replied.

"Ouch," Reid grimaced as he pulled one of the glass doors open and entered the bullpen.

Emily and Morgan remained just outside the doors. She stared at him, her worry meter having just gone through the roof.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked. Derek glanced through the doors into the bullpen, watching the Monday morning bustle. He saw Rossi exit his office and make his way toward the conference room. JJ and Hotch were visible through the window in the team leader's office. Reid tossed his bag on the chair by his desk. Morgan's eyes returned to Emily. "It doesn't have to be weird in there," he offered with a small smile. "We can still work together despite what happened this morning.

She swallowed. "That's not what's on my mind right now," Emily replied. "Last night you told me that you hurt your head while fixing a broken pipe."

"I did?" he asked, shrugging. "Must have been confused last night. The doctor did mention I might have a concussion from what happened," Derek reminded her. But he could see she was not at all convinced. "Okay, you caught me. I've been going to this thing lately," Morgan sighed.

"A… thing? Could you extrapolate on that?"

"It's sort of a… a place to let off steam."

Her lips pursed. "Like a boxing gym?"

Derek's head shook a little, "Not exactly."

"What, exactly?"

"A fight club," he answered.

She looked him in the eye but still wasn't convinced he was telling her the truth. "You'd never participate in something like that," Emily stated with conviction.

"When you asked me not to ask questions, it was difficult, but I agreed," Emily went on. "I've tried to respect your space and I've tried not to worry this last week and half. But to have you stand here now and lie to my face about what's going on. It hurts, Derek. A lot," she honestly let him know. "Especially after whatever that was that happened between us this morning," she added. "But more than that, I'm scared for you."

"Emily, I…"

One of the glass doors was pushed open between them. "Guys," JJ stuck her head out. "We have another body," she grimly reported.

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, _Criminal Minds_.

* * *

><p><strong>Constant<strong>

Part 4

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

* * *

><p>"I promise to be true to you," Emily read the bloody text on the inside of the bathroom door.<p>

"Why are the messages always on the inside of the bathroom door?" Reid pondered the reasoning. "The murders take place in the bedroom, but the messages face away from the murder, away from the violence. And this bathroom isn't even attached to the bedroom, it's down the hall," he continued to evaluate the situation out loud.

Emily shook her head as a man on the forensics team snapped photos. "Not a lot about this case makes sense," she said, still staring at the bloody words. The first few murders had just been the introduction of the wedding ceremony. Now the UnSub really had begun reciting their vows. To the forensics tech she asked, "Has the blood on all the doors at the past crime scenes been typed and analyzed? Does it match the victims?"

"I'm not sure," the young man replied. "I haven't been involved in this investigation until now, but I can find out for you," he offered.

"Thanks," she nodded.

Spencer regarded her for a moment. "The blood should match our victims. It doesn't make sense that it would be different."

She smiled. "What did I just say about nothing here making sense?" Emily reminded him. The two of them exited the bathroom and walked down the hall. The upstairs had a u-shaped landing around the staircase. Five doors branched off, two on each side and one straight across from the top of the stairs. She stopped outside the open door at the top of the stairs and peeked inside. "Looks like a home office," Emily noticed as she entered.

Reid followed her inside and glanced around. "Leslie Mathis was an editor for a book publishing company, makes sense that she did a lot of work from home."

But Emily didn't focus on anything work related in the room. Instead her eyes inspected the many framed photos on the desk. Leslie and her husband on their wedding day, the two of them on a beach, on a boat, snow ski vacation in the mountains. Even more pictures crowded a bookcase to the left of the desk. They showed an addition to the family, a baby that morphed into a little girl with blue eyes, dark hair and a sweet smile. "Is Leslie divorced?" Emily asked, "Because these photographs show a happy family."

"She and her husband are separated," it was JJ who replied, stepping into the room. "I just spoke with Calvin Mathis. He and Leslie haven't lived together for nearly a year. Divorce is still in the works. Their daughter, Josie, stayed with him over the weekend," she explained.

"None of our other victims had kids," Reid noted.

"And our UnSub is escalating," Emily spoke. That fact wasn't a surprise, it was just as they'd predicted. "Maybe this sudden increase has something to do with child custody after a messy divorce," she was still blinding probing, feeling like the case was spiraling all over the place. Emily finally caught sight of something other than pictures. She picked up a business card that was resting on Leslie's desk. "This is for a realtor, Sammy Tate."

JJ looked over Emily's shoulder. "Is that a man or a woman?"

Emily shrugged. "I don't know, but it's a double letter name. And the one thing I kept coming across this weekend was that each victim had either been in the process of, or was considering, selling their home." Her gut was telling her to follow that lead. She pulled her phone out and dialed the number on the card. Emily pressed the speaker button and waited. It only rang once before a computerized female voice came on the line.

"This number has been disconnected. If you'd like to make another call, please hang up and try again."

She ended the call, not really thinking it was going to be that easy. "Did Leslie's husband mention anything about selling the house?" Emily asked JJ.

"No," the liaison replied. "But we didn't talk long. He was going to call his mother to watch the girl then he'll stop by here. Hotch wants to interview him more extensively."

"He's here now," Derek said as he entered the office, joining the other three. "Reid, Hotch wants you and Rossi to interview Mr. Mathis," he relayed before leveling his eyes on JJ. "And he needs some press coverage. The media's trying to call this guy the wedding vow murderer and Hotch wants it squashed."

The blonde nodded. "I'm on it," she agreed, heading toward the door with Spencer.

"Reid," Emily stopped the genius. "Be sure to ask Mathis about the house and if he met this realtor, Sammy Tate."

"I will," he nodded before slipping out the door.

Morgan remained in the room, keenly aware that Emily was trying not to look at him. He was quiet for a while as he watched her staring at the photographs in Leslie Mathis' office. But all Derek could think about was the disappointed look he'd seen shinning in her dark eyes earlier that morning. "About what happened back at the BAU…"

"Don't," she stopped him. Emily sighed as she booted Leslie's laptop, hoping to find some mention of Sammy Tate or anyone else that might help their case. "I agreed not to question what was going on with you, Morgan," she deliberately used his last name as a means to distance herself from him. "That's a promise I plan to keep. If you're not ready to talk to me I'm going to respect that," she concluded.

He knew he didn't deserve her understanding nature, but he was immensely grateful for it. "Did you receive any kind of text message before this latest victim."

"Her name is Leslie Mathis and she has a daughter, Josie," Emily handed him one of the family photos. She leaned against the desk and finally faced him. "I keep checking, but I didn't get any text messages last night and none so far this morning," she said, trying to forget their kiss, trying to keep her word about not questioning him. Trying not to think about their victims being her fault in any way. "I don't know what's going on, but if those two messages were sent by our UnSub then something has changed the way he or she is operating."

"What messages?"

They both turned to find Hotch had entered the room.

xxx

Hotch sat with his eyes aimed on the folder in front of him. "ME found foreign DNA on the body; semen. Sample is being run through ViCAP as we speak," he announced to the team that was gathered around their conference room table for the second time that morning.

"He's been so careful up until now," Reid spoke.

"Two murders in three days, his escalation caused him to slip up," Dave noted. "It's what we were hoping."

"Sometimes condoms just break," JJ replied.

Emily nodded. "Yes, they do." Noticing a few odd looks aimed her way she quickly transitioned. "I guess this blows my female UnSub being the sole murderer theory, unless she carries around a turkey baster. Doubtful, though. But I'd still like to entertain Derek's partner theory. Reid got confirmation from Calvin Mathis that he and his wife were contemplating selling their house after the divorce was final. That makes a clean sweep of all the victims with that in common as well as the other connections."

Hotch turned to Garcia. "Anything on Sammy Tate?"

"I've tried every search method I can think of. The best I came up with is a Sam Tate," she relayed. "He's a sixty-three year old retired insurance salesman who lives in Peoria."

"And Emily's text messages?" the team leader asked. "Is there any other way to trace those back to a physical person?"

Penelope's head shook, her sleuthing efforts again coming up empty handed. "Sorry, sir. I dug as far as I could into TracFone. Those two numbers only left one text message each to Emily's phone, but they were never registered on the site with any useful data. However, I did discover that each number made a few calls to a payphone booth in Baltimore."

"First victim was found in Baltimore," Reid reminded them all.

"Where exactly is that payphone located?" Morgan inquired.

"Baltimore Harbor," the tech replied. "But tons of people work, shop, eat and hang out there."

The team leader turned his attention back to Emily and Derek. "Exactly how long have you known about these messages?"

"I found out Saturday, but Prentiss has known for over a week," Morgan answered.

Not impressed by the way Derek tried to pass the blame, Hotch frowned. He hadn't wanted to pursue the details until the team was away from the crime scene and all gathered. "You both knew and you said nothing to me," his voice was barely constrained. "Is there anything else going on behind my back that I should know about?"

"You might want to mention the Rawson thing," Garcia whispered to Emily.

Hotch eyed the tech. "You know something about what's going on?"

"This was all my doing," Emily jumped in, taking the blame. She finally explained everything about the text messages and what Garcia had uncovered about Jenny Clark. She even spilled the beans about her meeting with Rawson. "I took it upon myself to confront him, so please don't blame Morgan and Garcia," she implored.

"Sounds to me like there's plenty blame to go around," Hotch noted. "But we have a killer to stop. We work as a team. Any other text messages you get, I know about them immediately. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," Emily replied. The other two only nodded.

Anderson entered the room with two file folders. He passed them off to Hotch and left.

"ViCAP didn't reveal a match for our guy, and blood found on the door messages matches our victims," Hotch read. "This real estate agent doesn't exist," he sighed. "We're back to where we started. I want the three of you…" his eyes remained on Morgan, Prentiss and Garcia, "To pour over all cases with similar details to this one. I also expect you to comb through everyone in Emily's past. The rest of us have other cases to devote time to," he stood and exited the room.

An hour later Derek leaned against the lighted map of the United States in Garcia's lair. Emily sat in the chair beside Penelope. "In college there was Damien West, we only went out five times," Emily wearily recalled. "He was a pretty banal rich kid. I imagine the worst crime he ever committed was going to bed once without flossing," she droned on, growing rather sick of scouring through her personal life with Derek just a few feet away.

"We're not getting anywhere with this," Morgan stated the obvious. "Maybe we should cut out all the behavioral stuff, stick to the bare bones," he suggested.

"What do you mean?" Emily was open to anything if it meant she didn't have to mention the frat boy she'd dated who'd waxed his surfboard religiously.

He pushed away from the wall and ran both hands over his head. Even a single hour spent cooped up in Garcia's land of tech had left them all a bit stir crazy. "We peel away the idea that our UnSub has some vendetta against you, take away the ex-husband aspect, and forget about the fact our victims were looking to sell their houses," Derek said. "At the core, this UnSub is a cold blooded killer. And odds are he's done this before. I say we narrow it down to past cases that might have involved rape along with stabbing and/or shooting?"

The tech nodded. "Okay, but that's actually not very narrow," Garcia let him know.

"Confine it to a radius around DC and Baltimore," Emily added.

"I still have hundreds," the other woman replied.

"Try unsolved cases," Derek suggested. "Someone who was arrested and let go, something with very little evidence, no DNA," he offered more search advice.

"Okay," the tech nodded. "We're getting a shorter list now. And if I cross reference with a small detail like recently divorced," she added. "There's a Martin Rufo in DC who was suspect numero uno in a rape and murder case last year. He never went to trial, though, cut a deal."

"Who else?" Emily asked. "I'm pretty sure the stabbing has to be significant to our killer."

Garcia typed some more. "Jared Cavitch did go to trial six months ago in Baltimore. Three counts of rape and stabbing. Third victim was killed by a gunshot wound," she almost felt giddy about that coincidence, but a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach belayed any happiness. "Mr. Cavitch steadfastly maintained that he was innocent. No DNA or other physical evidence was ever produced. All the prosecution had in their arsenal was one of the victim's identifying Cavitch via his voice. She never saw his face. It wasn't enough to convict."

"Anything else?" Morgan prodded.

"Mostly rape cases ending with gunshots, lots of stabbing without sexual assault, rape and strangulation…" Penelope informed them.

Prentiss flexed her fingers. "And you said this Cavitch guy was recently divorced?"

"Yepers," Garcia confirmed. "The wife, Maria Cavitch, stood by him through a few press conferences and TV interviews, but two months into the trial she filed for divorce. She gained full custody of their six year old son, James, two months ago."

Morgan eyed Emily. "What do you think?" he placed the ball in her court, deciding he'd follow her lead.

She shrugged. "Losing custody of the boy makes for a pretty solid stressor about the time of the first murder. It's worth a shot."

After Garcia had printed off some pertinent information on Cavitch, Emily carried it out of the lair, down the hall, through the bullpen and up to Hotch's office. Derek was beside her as she knocked on the man's door. "Come in," Hotch beckoned.

The two of them stood before their supervisor like wary teenagers in front of their high school principal. Emily clearly stated the reason for their visit and went on to explain what they'd discovered about Cavitch as Hotch also perused the file of information they presented. "Right now this guy feels like the best lead we've got," Emily concluded.

"Only lead," Hotch acknowledged, closing the file.

Derek nodded. "We have a home address for Jared Cavitch and one for his wife, Maria. We also know he works for a shipping container facility in Baltimore Harbor, which coincides with those phone calls. Should we let Rossi know? He and Reid could head over there this afternoon and talk to the guy," he suggested.

The team leader handed the file back to Emily. "The two of you did all the footwork on this. I think you should be the ones to follow up," he offered. "But if things get serious, you either bring Cavitch in or call us," Hotch instructed.

"Understood," Emily agreed as she practically pushed Derek out the office door.

xxx

The first half of their drive was excruciatingly quiet. "Should we at least talk about the kiss this morning?" Derek finally asked.

"Nope," Emily replied.

He turned his head and noticed she was picking at her fingernails. Derek aimed his eyes back on the road as he overtook a compact car. He flicked his blinker again and eased back into the far right lane. "You do that a lot when you're nervous," he finally said. "Your nails are definitely not your finest physical attribute."

She cracked a smile while thinking about what he'd said in the wee hours of the morning, something about her looking beautiful when nervous, just before he'd kissed her. "I've been doing this since I was very young. My mother once took me to a salon and made me get fake nails in the hopes I wouldn't destroy them," Emily recalled. "If only she'd taken the time to realize it was stress causing it," she lamented.

Derek felt bad knowing that he was probably the root cause of a lot of her stress at the moment. "You know Hotch was amazingly mellow about us not telling him about those messages," he pointed out. "I think he's worried about you," Morgan conveyed. "It's only been about seven months ago that Hailey died and we couldn't do a damn thing to reach her in time. The Reeper tortured Hotch with the messages, the threats... I'm sure he just doesn't want anything like that to happen to you."

"I know," she turned to face him. Emily could see that he was the worried one. He was just as worried about her as she was about him. And neither one of them was willing to talk about it. She realized they made quite a dysfunctional pair.

The second half of their drive was a little less quiet and not nearly as tense either. Derek pulled to a stop outside Maria Cavitch's apartment building at two o'clock in the afternoon. They hadn't called ahead, but according to Garcia's research, the woman worked Wednesday through Sunday at an all-you-can-eat buffet. As they walked up a rickety set of stairs to the second floor apartment, Emily and Derek exchanged a glance. All other outside worries retreated as they slipped into work mode.

Maria opened her door with a glare. "What?" she asked.

"Maria Cavitch?" Morgan and Prentiss flashed their badges. "We'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband?" Derek began. He couldn't help notice that the woman was short with blonde hair and green eyes. She looked nothing like Emily or the women Jared Cavitch had possibly killed.

"He won't be my husband after Thursday," Maria replied. "That's when we get to sign the papers."

Emily noted that was another possible stressor for Cavitch's killing spree. "Why'd you leave your husband?" she asked. "You stood by him those first months of his trial. What happened to change that?"

"Don't have to testify against your husband," the woman said.

"True," Emily nodded. "But that's not what we're after."

"It's what I'm after," Maria informed them. "If he kills again I want to make damned sure I can testify he did it."

Derek swallowed. "You believe he was guilty?"

Maria sneered. "When a man comes home smelling of sex and another woman, blood on his clothes, and puts a hand against your throat and threatens your life and that of your sleeping child… you don't doubt much. And you damn well keep your mouth shut," she concluded. "I can't be saying anything more to you now."

She slammed the door on them.

"Uh…" Emily blinked as they turned around and headed down the stairs. "That was revealing."

"Think she's telling us the truth?" Derek wondered.

"Not sure why she'd lie," a shrug raised Emily's shoulders.

He pushed the apartment building's main door open and they stepped into the sunlight. "Throw us off if she's been the one helping him out, our mysterious friend and realtor?" Morgan spit-balled. "Could be a long shot, but we are grasping at straws on this one."

"Indeed," she agreed as they entered the SUV.

Derek drove them out to the shipping warehouse where Cavitch worked. They flashed badges again and the warehouse foreman pointed Cavitch out to them. "Jared Cavitch?" Derek asked as they approached the man, badges out for another performance. "Let's take a walk?" Morgan nodded toward a roll-up door that was open to the outside.

The man was six foot. Dark hair, late thirties, stocky build and a scar running from left earlobe down his neck. The three of them moved into the large yard behind the building. Dozens of shipping crates were stacked and aligned in neat rows, blue, red, green and brown, like Lego building blocks. Several large trucks were parked among them. "We need to ask you some questions about a few rape cases over the last couple of weeks," Emily was the one to start the conversation.

"Look," Cavitch held his hands up. "I've been able to hold this job for six months," he glanced over his shoulder. "That's a record for me, and I have no intention of letting the two of you ruin it for me. Those charges and the trial didn't exactly do much for my career opportunities. Not to mention they had nothing on me."

"Aside from an eye witness," Emily said.

He stared at her for a long moment. "She identified my voice, supposedly," Cavitch scoffed. "It didn't hold up in court. A jury of my peers found me not guilty and I can't be retried for the same crime. I know my rights and I'm trying to get my life back together. My wife won't give me visitation to my kid, but I'm keeping my nose clean. I will see him again soon."

"You're obviously not stupid," Morgan acknowledged. "Which means you wouldn't leave anything to chance. But, you see, we found DNA at the latest scene," Derek revealed. "So, why not volunteer a blood test rather than make us get a court order. If you're innocent, as you claim to be, you'll go free again."

With a head shake and a hollow laugh, Cavitch didn't back down. "You're right, I'm not stupid. You need more than a guess to get a court order. This is all a bunch of crap and you know it. You FBI and police are all the same, you're bullies. Well, you can try to coerce me all you want, but I'm not going to crack. I suggest you move on before things get ugly."

The threat in Cavitch's tone did not sit well with Derek. He stepped into the man's comfort zone, hand on his gun. "I have reasonable cause, which means I can bring you in for up to seventy-two hours without charges," Morgan informed the man.

"And I have friends who say you're not taking me anywhere," Cavitch calmly replied.

Derek pulled his weapon as five other guys steeped out from behind the shipping containers and closed in on them. Emily attempted to reach her gun, but a guy with about a hundred and fifty pounds on her grabbed both her hands before she could go for it. She brought her knee up and connected with his balls. He went down, but three more guys were on her in a second. One grabbed her gun, the other two held her arms as she tried to kick them. "Morgan!"

He turned his attention away from Cavitch for a split second to make sure she was okay. But it was all the distraction needed for one of Cavitch's goons to whack Derek on the back of the head with a large board. Morgan fell to his knees, dazed. Cavitch pushed him to the ground with a booted foot and wrestled the gun from him. "This is why women shouldn't be in law enforcement, too much of a distraction," the man laughed.

"Take her cell phone," Cavitch instructed his men as he did the same to Morgan. "Keys, watch, anything else that they might be able to use to communicate or escape."

Morgan was tempted to fight Cavitch, but he watched as Emily was held at gunpoint. Six against two wasn't exactly a fair fight. "Do you really think kidnapping two federal agents is going to improve your case?" Derek questioned. "People know where we are."

"But they're never going to find you."

Another goon unlocked the back of a shipping container. Cavitch waved Derek's gun at the two agents. "In you go," he and the other men shoved Morgan and Prentiss inside.

The container grew dark as the door swung shut on them.

"Well, I know for a fact that it was a 2x4 that hit you this time," Emily quipped, valiantly trying to lighten the mood. It didn't stick. "This feels wrong. It was too easy."

Derek gingerly touched the lump on the back of his head. "I've never actually been locked in a storage container before. I wouldn't know if it's easy or not."

She sighed. "I meant finding Cavitch and figuring out he's our guy. He's kind of transparent."

"So, now you believe our UnSub is one guy?"

Her head shook. "Of course it wasn't just him. I believe he's the one who raped and stabbed those women, probably also the one who shot them. Why else take us prisoner if he wasn't guilty? But there's no way he wrote those messages on the doors, not unless he was forced. Cavitch does not strike me as the sentimental type."

"I have to agree. And I didn't get that feeling from any of his goon friends, either," Derek added.

"No, and I doubt Maria was the brains behind it all," Emily continued. "Not to mention I have no connection to these thugs, which means we're still missing a large part of the puzzle."

The whole container rocked to the left, sending them sliding that direction. A second later they shifted to the right, both trying to brace against the movement. Then it felt like the container was rising. A short time afterwards, a loud metallic thud resounded in their ears as the container collided with a hard surface below them. And within a few minutes they heard the sounds of an engine starting and then tires crunching against a gravel surface.

"Emily," Derek gave up on standing and sat with his back against the container's side wall. "They're moving us."

She rolled her eyes in the darkness. "No shit."

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, _Criminal Minds_.

**I thank you all very much for your review comments. Please accept this next part as my gratitude.**

* * *

><p><strong>Constant<strong>

Part 5

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

* * *

><p>"Morgan?"<p>

Emily watched him closely. She had been for hours while listening to the road rumble beneath them. "Derek," she called to him again, worried that she'd let him sleep too long. "Time to wake up, sleeping beauty," Emily reached over and gently shook his shoulder.

"Hmm?" he groaned, eyes opening one at a time. "I've been sleeping?" His vision slowly readjusted to the dark interior of their transportation.

"Yeah, you passed out," she casually replied, though actually relieved that his head injuries weren't a lot more serious. "I made sure you weren't dead then let you rest." Emily watched him sit up, his back pressed against the side wall of the metal box again. "I never did apologize for what happened back there at the warehouse," she said. "Usually I perform much better with a large audience of men," Emily grinned.

"You're making jokes?" Derek asked in a serious tone.

"Sorry," her second apology was more sincere.

"How long was I out? What have you been doing? Did we stop again?"

His questions were a good sign in her mind, considering he'd essentially been mute the first several hours of their unknown journey. "I'm guessing it's been three or four hours since we stopped," Emily replied, remembering how the two of them had shouted at the top of their lungs in the hopes someone would hear them. But there'd been no reply, only the smell of gasoline. They'd concluded their driver had been carrying extra gas on hand and had fueled up at a remote location.

"And not much to do but think," she continued. "Thinking about the case details, Thinking about a way to get out of here, but mostly trying not to think about how badly I've had to pee for the last however many hours we've been stuck in this tin can."

She took a breath, but it wasn't her breathing that worried her. Emily could hear Derek's ragged breaths, same as they'd been earlier before he'd fallen asleep. For some reason her mind jolted back to an incident in which Reid and Morgan had very briefly gotten stuck in an elevator. That memory worried her. "Morgan, are you claustrophobic?"

"No," he quickly responded. "I just don't care much for small enclosed spaces that are dark," Derek reluctantly revealed.

"Um," she swallowed. "I hate to break this to you, but that's pretty much what claustrophobia is." Silence blanketed the space for a while after that. "I swear I will not make fun of you if it's true," Emily finally offered. "Everyone has some kind of fear or phobia. I hate spiders. I know that's horribly girly of me, but true. They're just so creepy and crawly and some nights I can't stop thinking about them crawling over me and into my mouth or up my nose."

"Emily," he stopped her. "That's really not helping, because I don't care much for spiders either."

"Oh," she found that surprising. "How do you feel about ants?" Emily asked, hoping to impart some lightheartedness onto the situation. But he went quiet again, which worried her all the more. And his breathing grew sharp and erratic. "Morgan, you're okay. I'm here, and not going anywhere," she tried to offer some comfort. "I think you just need to concentrate on your breathing. Can you do that for me?"

He took a shaky breath. "What do you mean?"

"Well, this phobia of yours might not be that serious under normal circumstances," she offered. "But coupled with two head injuries in less than twenty-four hours, and our current predicament, I think the stress is causing you more anxiety than normal."

"What's normal about our lives, Emily?"

She smiled, wishing he could see her face better. Instead, she moved to sit right in front of him. Emily grasped his hands. "Just concentrate on taking slow, steady breaths," she encouraged. Her head couldn't help wonder how a tough guy like Derek Morgan could be afraid of the dark or small spaces, but she realized how narrow minded those thoughts were. He was still taking raspy breaths so she squeezed his hands. "Like this," she breathed in deeply and slowly let it out.

Derek felt foolish at first, for letting his fears show. But he latched on to Emily with great force and emulated her breathing. They repeated the process over and over until he finally felt his heart slow a little. "The day my dad was shot and killed at that convenience store, the robber locked me inside a storage closet," the words slipped out with a kind of ease he never thought possible. "It was dark, but there was a small window at the top of the door. I pushed a bucket over and stood on my tiptoes. That's how I watched my father die that day."

Words formed on the tip of Emily's tongue, but they all seemed hallow. She remained silent.

"I never told anyone that," he spoke again, thankful for her lack of sympathetic platitudes. "My dad's police buddies found me in there; let me out. It wasn't a detail ever mentioned in any newspapers or reports. I never even told my mom what I just told you," Derek let her know.

Emily wasn't sure whether to be glad or worried that he'd told her all that. He'd spoken openly about his father a few times now in her presence, and she couldn't help think it had something to do with what was going on with him. She didn't know in what way, but Emily had faith it would all come out eventually. "Why don't you tell me a happier memory about your father," she implored, treading lightly. "Tell me more about the fishing trips on..."

The truck stopped suddenly causing Emily and Derek to lurch forward. They were both frozen for a moment as they listened. Then they began to bang on the sides of the truck. "Hey, in here!" Morgan shouted. "If anyone is out there, two federal agents are locked in this container!"

"Cavitch!" Emily joined in. "You're never going to get away with this. The FBI is already looking for us!"

No one on the outside made a peep. They couldn't tell if it was one person out there or several. But soon enough a grinding noise belayed all their efforts at yelling. "Gotta be some kind of hydraulic system," Derek guessed as one end of the box began to rise. He was glad to have something to focus on other than his fears.

"That's great, but what does it mean for us?" Emily asked.

"Nothing good," he replied as the box continued to rise.

Moments later the noise stopped. Then a loud metallic thunk-thunk was followed by a second. "Something's being detached?" Emily guessed.

"Yeah, us," Morgan grabbed her hand. "We need to brace ourselves."

"Against what?" she wondered aloud, knowing for a fact there was nothing in the box to hold on to. A second later the whole unit began to move, sliding off the truck's bed. They landed hard, knocking them off their feet. Emily felt her butt collide with the metal floor and she lost hold of Derek's hand. The box continued to slide and so did they, toward the doors, which they both actually hoped would stay securely closed as they made their decent.

They bumped over unstable ground, cracking noises and things smacking against the outside of the metal container. It didn't last very long before they were stopped by something. "A tree maybe?" Derek whispered as he made a tentative move to stand. He got to his feet, but in a squat. The box was still at a sloped angle. "Let's just hope we're not teetering on some cliff ledge," he pressed a hand against the doors and stood to his full height.

Emily shook her head. "Please don't ever become a motivational speaker." She got to her feet as well. "There was a small bit of light earlier, coming from somewhere above us. Maybe a vent? Do these things even have vents? Somehow we've been able to breathe back here," she noted.

"My fingertips are barely touching the roof," Derek let her know. He jumped with one arm extended and hit the top. "You'll have to get on my shoulders and feel around in the dark."

"Great," she mumbled. "At least I already have crappy fingernails," Emily resigned herself to the task and reached for Derek. After several awkward tries, she finally managed to hoist herself onto his shoulders, "Really glad I didn't wear a skirt today." But as soon as she tried to sit up she banged her head against the roof. "Not as much clearance as we thought," she winced. Within a few more seconds she'd nicked two fingers and could feel blood flowing. "You owe me a manicure and a facial for this, Morgan," she called down to him.

"If you find us a way out," he happily agreed. Derek moved side-to-side as they searched. They were almost half way when the box slipped and Derek lost his footing.

"Morgan," Emily sighed from her spot sprawled against the floor.

"Sorry," Derek waited a few minutes to make sure they weren't sliding any more. "Come on, we have to try again," he encouraged.

"You know what," Emily climbed up. "Forget the manicure and facial. I'll need a full body massage when this is all over." Her hands continued the search as Morgan painstakingly worked his way back to the midpoint. Seconds later her fingers snagged against something other than a lose screw or broken piece of metal. "I think I've got something. Feels like mesh, could be a vent screen. But it's small. Maybe only twelve inches by twelve inches, if even that."

"Big enough for you to get through."

She scoffed. "While I appreciate your gross underestimate of my shape, there is no way my hips will fit through a twelve inch hole."

"We don't have a lot of other options, Prentiss," he reminded her. "Can you break through?"

Emily was so hunched over it was hard to gain leverage, but she managed to punch a hole through the mesh. She ripped the rest of it down and found a thin metal grate. Emily pounded on it until it budged. "I might have it," she continued to bang against the grate until she felt a surge of cooler air. Emily pushed the grate completely out of the way. "Give me some lift," she told Morgan. "Time to see if I can fit."

Her arms and head went through the opening just fine. Bust and waist were a little tight, but not compared to her hips. She turned, finding a little more room on the diagonal. "Push," Emily instructed him, feeling the palms of his hands pressed firmly against her rear. She braced her hands against the roof to help propel her through. The sharp metal opening ripped her pants and dug into her flesh, but she'd gone too far to turn back. "Just a little more."

"You sure?" Derek asked.

"Sure," Emily sucked in her breath and finally emerged fully onto the top of the container. "Oh, yippee," she stayed on her belly but turned so her head was near the hole. "It's dark out here, too," she called down to Derek. "Moonlight, though. I have no idea where we are but it's actually kind of nice. Warm, clear sky, and I see stars."

"What do you see that's helpful?" he tried to get her back on track.

"Um, trees and a huge metal crate beneath me."

Despite the serious situation, he almost laughed. Derek did love her dry sense of humor and her ability to always make him relax. "Prentiss, can you jump down? Does it look safe? I'm going to need you to open the door, because I know I won't fit through that hole."

"It's dark down there, can't see the ground," she replied. "But, here goes nothing."

Seconds later, Derek heard a muffled: "Fuck."

"You okay?" Morgan shouted. He didn't hear a reply. "Emily?" he called out. "Prentiss, do not mess around with me. Are you oka…" he didn't finish when the door opened and a small crack of moonlight trickled inside the box. Derek rushed to the door and scrambled out into the fresh air.

"Good news," she grinned. "We're not dangling off a cliff. Bad news, I really, really need to pee now. Squeezing through that hole did not do my bladder any favors. Good news, nothing put woods to pee in. Bad news, not a speck of toilet paper to be found."

He smiled. "Here," Derek reached into a cargo pocket on his jeans and pulled out a handkerchief. "The one thing Cavitch and his guys didn't take," he offered her the item.

"You carry a handkerchief?" she was both surprised and grateful. "What are you, some kind of Rambo Prince Charming?"

"I don't always have it with me," Derek kind of liked the duel persona she'd pegged on him.

"Well, thank you for having it now. And, I apologize for what you may be about to hear," she said before moving a few feet away to do the deed.

Morgan turned his back, even though he could barely see a thing in the low light. He did his best not to hear her business, deciding to hum a nonsensical tune. An owl hooted in the distance and he turned his eyes skyward. Emily had been right, it was clear and the stars were bright. He knew they had to have been on the road for several hours, eight or nine at the very least. If he had Reid's brain he might have been able to deduce a location based on that information alone.

"I hope the litter patrol doesn't mind, but I decided to leave the handkerchief by the tree," Emily said as she approached him. "Promise I'll buy you a new one when we get home."

"Don't worry about it," his head shook. "We need to climb," Derek nodded toward the direction they'd slid from. "Hopefully the road isn't too far up. You ready?"

"Yep," Emily nodded. "Lead the way."

Derek set off straight away, being as careful as possible while the traversed the foreign terrain in very low light. The slope was pretty steep, but it actually didn't take him long before he reached pavement. "Two lane paved road," he noticed. "That's got to be a good sign. Civilization can't be too far away. I think we should head left, most likely it's the direction we came from. They wouldn't stop on the opposite side of the road to offload us."

There was no kind of response from the darkness behind him. "Emily?" he called out. "Where are you? I thought you were right behind me."

"I am," she huffed. "Just a little farther behind."

He waited for several minutes until he spotted her. Derek took her right hand and helped her the rest of the way up. "What's wrong, mountain woman? I thought you spent a lot of time with your grandfather in the Alps," he teased.

"Yeah, well I was a lot younger," she snapped. "And I never had a twisted ankle back then."

Worry clouded all other thoughts in his head. "You hurt your ankle? Why didn't you say something?"

"Because someone asked me to jump off a shipping container into the unknown," Emily replied. "I didn't think it was too bad until I started up. And I knew you'd insist on carrying me or something equally chivalrous."

"You say that as if it's a bad thing," he wasn't sure he'd ever figure her out. "We need to keep moving, so what's it gonna be… piggy back or threshold?"

Her nose crinkled. "Threshold?"

Morgan nodded. "The universal man carries new bride over the threshold in his arms maneuver."

Emily's head shook. "Maneuver? You make it sound like a military operation. And I think we've had our fair share of wedding vows and whatnot, so spin around, pack mule," she instructed. He did so and she climbed onto his back again, this time with her legs squeezed about his waist and her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Derek immediately started walking. "Bike riders go with the flow of traffic, right?" he asked. "Walkers should go against to be more visible?"

"I think so," she replied. "But there's no traffic and its dark. Stay out in the open for a while," Emily suggested. "Better light." As he moved toward the yellow center line her mind drifted backwards several years. "I think the last time someone gave me a piggy back ride it was Lenny Stevens in the fourth grade," she recalled with a note of amusement. "He was tall and wiry, but with a good grip. We were playing chicken on the playground. I wanted to knock Hattie Carlson on her butt. She teased me relentlessly."

"And did you?" Morgan found he was curious.

"Yep, we won," she confirmed. "But the nuns were not happy at all. Lenny and I got detention for a whole week. It was worth it, though, seeing Hattie sprawled on her ass."

He laughed. "Who knew you had such a competitive side. Or a vindictive one."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Morgan."

His breath hitched for a brief second as her words blew warm air in his ear. "I'm beginning to understand that," he whispered.

They walked for a while, rounded a corner and came across a sign. "395," Emily read. "State highway. Not Maryland or Virginia, though," she mused.

"Where's Reid, the walking internet, when you need him?" Derek asked.

Emily was impressed that he didn't seem winded packing her around. She eyed the bump on his head. Her nose was so close to his neck that she couldn't help inhaling. He smelt sweet and spicy, just like her sheets had smelled after he'd slept on them. She hated how much that smell caused her stomach to dance. Emily cleared her throat. "I remember we crossed over a bridge a while back. I'd say the timing between joints in the concrete was about three seconds."

"You really counted?" he questioned.

She chuckled. "No, I was joking. That was a reference to the movie, _Sneakers_."

"Never heard of it."

"Seriously?" Emily frowned. "Even Reid enjoys that one, although he's constantly finding faults with it just to get under my skin."

"Why am I not surprised that nerd and nerder would share similar taste in movies?" Derek said as he shifted her weight a little, gaining a better grip around her thighs.

"Okay, so it is about two college friends who create a cryptology program," she admitted. "But it stars Robert Redford, Sidney Poitier, Dan Aykroyd, River Phoenix… it's practically a classic. I honestly can't believe you haven't seen it. But I suppose your favorite movies have the words _Rocky_ and _Die Hard_ in their titles."

Derek removed his hand from her left thigh and intentionally let her slip a little. "Oops, I might drop you," he joked. They both laughed, helping to further downplay the amount of trouble they'd found themselves in. He placed his hand back. "Robert Redford and Sidney Poitier, I'm actually impressed. I might have to check it out. And, while I do enjoy a good action flick every now and then, one of my favorite movies is actually, _Dances with Wolves_."

"Now I'm impressed," Emily said as she let her chin rest against the side of his head.

"Kevin Costner isn't much of an actor," he went on. "But I can kind of identify with his story in that movie. Being pulled away from his safety zone. Thrust into the unknown. Then he meets these new people who eventually become his friends and family. He learns to trust them, and they trust him. They fight to keep one another safe."

She thoughtfully listened to him, realizing she could say the same about her life. "You know my favorite part of that movie is the very end," her voice was a soft whisper. "When Wind in his Hair calls out to Dances with Wolves: Can you see that I will always be your friend."

Morgan nodded. "Mine, too."

"I'm hungry," Prentiss announced, famous for diverging when the subject matter got too serious. "And thirsty. You know what; forget the manicures and the massage. What I really want right now is a grilled cheese and a chocolate shake."

"I'm not getting you anything vaguely liquid until we're within close proximity of a real bathroom, because I don't have any hankies left," Derek chuckled. "But when we get back to civilization, I promise I'll buy you a grilled cheese and chocolate milkshake." That seemed to satisfy her as they walked silently for a short while. Or as silently as one could with crickets chirping, owls hooting and the very far-off yowl of what was probably a coyote. "How come you're not married?" Derek asked minutes later.

Emily jolted upright, having nearly nodded off. "What kind of a question is that?" her mind raced, her heart thumped.

"I'm just curious why no guy has scooped you up yet," he replied nonchalantly.

"What am I, ice cream?"

He smiled. "You know, come to think of it… you and Reid actually have a lot in common."

"Reid is like my brother," she gently slapped his shoulder. "Men and women can have purely platonic relationships." Emily relaxed again, slouching so that her chin rested against his head. "And to answer your question, no one's ever asked me to marry them. I'm not exactly good in relationships."

"I think that just means you haven't found the right relationship yet," Derek said, realizing their conversation always seemed to keep coming back around to things of a serious and romantic nature. And her warm breath continued to trickle down his neck. He tried to concentrate on something else, so he looked to the sky. "What is it about the stars for you?" he asked. "Why do they spark your interest?"

She didn't respond for a while, pondering the question. "I guess because they're mysterious but comforting." Emily thought that sounded like the dumbest answer possible, but it was true. It also seemed a decent description of Derek Morgan. "I wrote a poem about them when I was fourteen," the words escaped before she could stop them. Her eyes closed, bracing herself for another comment about how nerdy she was to gaze at stars and write poetry about them.

"Can I hear it?"

That was not the response she'd been expecting. "No."

"Why not?" he persisted. "You don't remember it or you just don't want to tell me?"

"Yes," she nodded.

He laughed. "Come on, I told you I'm not fond of spiders. And if you tell anyone I will deny it," Derek warned in a playful manner. But he turned serious a second later. "I told you about that storage room. I feel like I really can tell you anything," he remembered their promise to one another. "I swear I'll never tell anyone about your poem," Derek vowed.

"_Distant starlight_," she began in a soft, wistful voice. "_Shinning bright. The calm before morning light. Cast your spell upon the day. Make all our troubles go away. Fight to make time suspend. Forever be my constant friend_." Emily listened to the crickets singing. "I wrote that during summer vacation with my grandfather. Just a few weeks after Molly Maguire told the entire eighth grade that I still slept with a stuffed animal in my bed. I was mortified and certain that I'd never make one true friend in my life."

Derek's hands gently squeezed her thighs. "Guess you proved yourself wrong. And to hell with Molly Maguire," he added, "Although, she did inspire a beautiful poem."

Emily felt both giddy and confused by his comments. It seemed like everything they'd talked about recently dealt more with friendship rather than two people sharing a kiss in a bed; a kiss that had been a lot more suggestive than it had been friendly. "There's still something we're missing," her brain made a one-eighty turn again. "Cavitch may have killed those women, but who sent me those messages?" She retreated to known territory.

It wasn't difficult for Derek to tell what she was doing; covering up her unease with something she was good at. It seemed they were both better at problem solving when it involved a case, rather than their personal lives. "What if Rawson's wife didn't actually die?" Morgan proposed. "Isn't it odd that BSS records don't list her as a deceased agent? What if they're keeping her status and whereabouts a secret," he suggested.

"You can't be serious. Is this because you don't like Rawson?" she questioned.

"I never said I didn't like him," Derek said.

"Right, I guess I just interpreted that from the lack of politeness you show him."

"Emily, the guy shows up with a big gun, throws his cocky weight around and then saves the day. Did you really fall for that?"

"Ha!" she practically shouted in his ear. "Isn't that exactly what you do? Jeez, I thought you were over this Rawson thing. I told you it's not him, Derek. And the more you dwell on him, the further we drift from the truth about this UnSub partner…" her rant died down abruptly as Derek stopped walking.

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

She nodded. "You might want to get out of the middle of the road now," Emily suggested as the roar of a vehicle approached.

Bright headlights nearly blinded them as Derek put Emily down. He curled one arm about her waist to help her stand, but his other arm waved wildly as a large truck barreled past them. "Damn it," he swore. But the truck slowed and came to a stop not too far past where they were standing. Morgan helped Emily hobble along till they reached the large delivery truck. The passenger door swung open, a bearded man leaning across the bench seat.

"What the heck are you folks doing out here at this time of night?" he asked.

"We're FBI agents," Emily said before she realized they didn't have any badges or ID. "What time is it?"

The driver eyed them with a kindly, but curious, manner. "Nearly three in the morning."

Derek explained the situation to the man. "We could really use a lift?"

"I'm due to make this delivery by the crack of dawn," the driver said. "But, hell… I'd rather meet my maker knowing I chose to help stranded folks rather than fill people's bellies with five tons of beef jerky. Hop on in. There's a turnaround a few miles up the road. Then we'll head back to Erwin."

"Erwin?" Emily questioned as Derek got into the cab and hoisted her up. She couldn't help admire the way Morgan sat in the middle, a barrier between their unknown rescuer.

"Erwin, Tennessee," the man let them know. "Name's Harold," he introduced.

"Harold, you wouldn't happen to have a cell phone I could use?" Morgan inquired.

The man nodded and pointed to the glove compartment. Emily opened it and fished the cell phone out. It was about as basic a phone as the rotary dial age, but Emily punched in Hotch's number and hit the speaker button. A few moments later a confused, "Hello?" answered.

"Hotch, we're pretty certain Cavitch is our guy," Derek spoke without preamble.

"Morgan?" the team leader's voice revealed obvious surprise and a small note of relief. "Yeah, we already know about Cavitch. Where the heck are you?" Hotch's voice crackled over the ancient cell phone.

"Erwin, Tennessee," Emily replied. "You've talked to Cavitch?"

Static greeted them for a second. Hotch's voice returned shortly after, already half way through a sentence "…then we found the SUV with your credentials and weapons. We picked up Cavitch for questioning, got a court ordered DNA test. Cavitch won't talk, though. He continues to deny any involvement in the murders," he reported. "But we're confident the DNA will match that found on Leslie Mathis. That should be enough to at least convict him for her murder, if not the others."

"How long have we been gone?" Emily wondered, given all that had happened.

"A little over twelve hours," Hotch replied. "From the CCTV images Garcia got at the warehouse we saw you thrown into that container, but all the faces of Cavitch's helpers were too blurry. And we couldn't get a plate number on the truck, so we had no way to guess which direction you'd headed. Is there an airport nearby?"

"Tri-cities regional," Harold piped up. "About forty minutes from here. I can take them."

"Good," Hotch said. "I'll make sure you get a flight and through security. We'll have a car waiting for you on this end."

Derek nodded. "Thanks." He ended the call and looked to Emily. "It's over."

She bit her lip, knowing it wasn't. There were still too many unanswered questions.

xxx

A timid knock sounded at her door.

Emily winced as she pulled the bag of ice from her elevated ankle, which had been wrapped in an ace bandage. She stood and slowly put weight on the tender ankle before she ambled to her door. Emily peered through the peep hole. Mixed emotions flooded her as she unlocked the door and let it swing open for Derek. "Why am I not surprised it's you," she smiled, settling on being happy for his visit.

"How are you?" he asked, remaining in the open doorway. "How's your ankle?"

She shrugged, curious why he didn't show any desire to come inside. "Okay. It's really not a bad sprain, but Hotch said I should lay low for a few days."

"I know, he told me when we spoke earlier." Morgan took a deep breath and let it out, recalling the way she'd helped him breathe in the shipping container. "Emily, I just wanted to say I'm sorry I told you all that stuff about watching my dad die. Sorry I kind of lost it back there. That certainly wasn't my finest hour."

Her right hand reached for his, fingers clasping his warm palm. There was a time not so long ago that she might've put a hand to his shoulder in a friendly manner, reassuring and tender. But things had changed between them, even if neither wanted to admit it. And the simple intimacy of clasped hands spoke volumes in her mind. "You have nothing to apologize for. I don't expect you to be superman."

His eyes lit with a grateful smile. "You're the only one."

The melancholy tone of his voice stabbed her chest. She knew what it was like to have impossible expectations heaped upon you. "Is it true?" she asked. "What Cavitch said back there about you being distracted by me? Because I hate to think that the two of us working together is going to be a problem, or…"

"Emily," he stopped her. "I would've turned to help if it had been Reid or JJ or even Hotch," Derek imparted upon her. He sighed, knowing that wasn't the real problem wedged between them. "What are we doing, Emily? You know I lied to you. But we spent all that time together and you never brought it up. We talked about everything else but that. Why aren't you pissed? Why don't you yell at me, get angry?"

"What purpose would that serve?" she shrugged. "I know you're not going to tell me anything until you're ready. It frustrates me, but I'd never push you," Emily vowed.

"You know…" she let her mind transition again. "Hotch thinks having Cavitch behind bars solves everything, but we could've died out there because of him. And he isn't talking, which makes me wonder who he's protecting. One minute I think those text messages were just wrong numbers. And the next I think they couldn't have been if they also lead back to Baltimore Harbor as Garcia stated."

Morgan let his thumb caress her soft, slender fingers; their hands still clasped. She'd changed the subject again and he couldn't help admire her conviction.

"Cavitch is only protecting himself. How many times have we profiled an UnSub and turns out we've got him all wrong?" Derek asked. "How many times have the details of a case not fit perfectly? The answer is, more than a few. We don't always get it right," he told her. "There's gonna be another case tomorrow, Emily, or the next day, or next week. And you have to move on. You have to do the best job you can on whatever case comes next," Derek insisted. "And I'd really like to know you're going to be okay before I leave."

"Leave?" her stomach clenched.

"I asked Hotch for some time off and he agreed," Derek explained. "I'm heading out tomorrow morning."

His words were a shock and left a lot unanswered. "Where? How long? A few days?" she fired off the questions in an attempt to keep him from drifting away.

"I'm not exactly sure," he honestly told her. "About any of it right now."

She swallowed, desperately trying to think of something to hold on to him a little longer. "You still owe me a grilled cheese and a chocolate milkshake," she reminded him.

He smiled for her, the corners of his eyes crinkled with genuine sentiment. "I do." Derek let go of her hand and leaned forward. He lightly pressed his lips to hers. It wasn't so much a kiss as it was a longing sigh that passed between them. He pulled away, but his fingers brushed against her cheek and down her neck. "Goodbye, Emily," he whispered.

"Bye," she barely squeezed the word out, still confused about his actions. Why he was leaving. Why he didn't feel like he could confide in her.

And worst of all, as he turned and walked away, Emily couldn't shake the feeling she might never see him again.

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, _Criminal Minds_.

**I've been having some laptop keyboard issues, which made typing tricky, which means I'm behind on replying to your comments. I figured finishing this part of the story was priority, so I shall say thank you here and hopefully get to the comments soon.**

**Also, this part got a wee bit long. Sorry?**

* * *

><p><strong>Constant<strong>

Part 6

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

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><p>She enjoyed the morning sunlight against her face. After a day of being stuck inside a shipping container it seemed a great luxury. But Emily couldn't guess what Derek's reaction would be, seeing her as she was at the moment. From the safety of her car she'd briefly watched him packing. When he'd reentered his place Emily had made her move. She sat now, waiting, mulling over a dozen different things to say. But when he walked down the stone steps toward her, the oddest thing came out of her mouth.<p>

"Escape velocity."

Derek's eyes narrowed as he spotted her seated on his all-black Harley Sportster. He held a rolled jacket in one hand. "What?"

"Escape velocity," Emily repeated. "The speed required for an object to escape the gravitational pull of a planet or other body," she recited from an old book her grandfather had long-ago given her to study. "You're planning to run away from your problems. And I get that. I do, because I've done it several times myself. But, I really don't think you should be alone right now. I'm worried about you," she admitted.

"Emily…"

Her head shook. "This doesn't mean I'm going to hound you. I made a promise and I intend to keep it. But," Emily took a deep breath. "I want to go with you," she concluded.

"That's your argument?" Morgan asked as he worked around her, securing his jacket inside a leather saddle bag.

Her lip was chewed in an attempt to avoid picking at her nails. "Please?"

Morgan almost cracked a smile. "I'm just going for a little ride, nothing to worry about."

"With two saddle bags packed?" Emily wasn't buying it.

"Could be a long ride," he confessed.

"I have some time, remember," she persisted. "Hotch told me to take a few days if I need."

It was dangerous on so many levels. He knew it was risky, and he could see she knew it was risky. But for some reason Derek couldn't think of anything to say to dissuade her. He snatched the black helmet that was resting on the front seat of his Harley. Morgan handed it to her. "I only have the one, put it on."

She took it from him and slipped it over her head, not wanting to say anything that might jeopardize her position of tagging along. The helmet smelled like him; that same damned spicy-sweet smell that she could not seem to escape. Emily made sure the small pack on her back was secure as Derek stepped over the bike and flicked the kickstand up with his booted foot. She was glad she'd worn long pants and boots as well, not having known what the day would hold for her.

The motorcycle roared to life. Emily was mesmerized as he easily maneuvered the massive bike, rocking it and backing away from the curb. With her hands clutching the bars on either side of the back seat, Emily held on as he pulled into the street. He zipped through the city at a fairly slow pace, allowing the morning air to whip against the bare skin of their arms and cheeks. But the ride didn't last long as he turned and parked in a small corner lot.

Derek cut the engine, put the kickstand down and got off the bike. "Need to grab something. You wanna come in?"

Her eyes darted around the area, but she couldn't see any kind of sign to indicate where they were. Emily didn't budge from her spot on the bike. "If I get off this motorcycle you could ditch me," she pointed out.

"I never figured you for the paranoid type," he actually grinned. It was hard to stay mad or upset in her presence. "Suite yourself. I'll be right back." It was fifteen minutes later when he returned with something tucked under his left arm. "Here," he held it out for her. "If you insist on tagging along then I insist on safety first. Which means I need my helmet back."

Emily smiled as she removed his helmet and took the new one from him. She admired the shiny crimson helmet. "It's red, how'd you know red is my favorite color?"

"It was on sale," he said, pulling his helmet on. Derek secured it beneath his chin and turned to see that she'd done the same with her new helmet. "Another thing," he added, "The way you've been holding onto the seat back there," his head shook a little. "When we get out on the highway that's probably not going to cut it. You might want to think about holding on to something a little more secure," Morgan concluded.

She gave a stiff nod. "Okay." When his gaze turned away Emily allowed another smile to form. Her arms snaked around his waist as they sped out of town.

xxx

Emily hadn't asked where they were headed. Her impromptu trip with Derek may have surprised him, but it shocked her. She'd had no plan when she set off for his place early that morning. To tag along with him had been a possibility, but the second she'd seen him packing up his motorcycle the idea had cemented in her head. Highway signs were easy enough to read and she knew they were headed north, up through Maryland. They hit the Pennsylvania border within two hours and continued north-west along I-70.

Spring rains had painted the Pennsylvania countryside half a dozen different shades of green. Some patches of farmland were golden and brown, crops growing in the sunshine. Derek took an exit off the main highway and they rode for another few hours before he pulled off the road at a small diner housed in a clapboard building with shutters. Derek got off the bike and helped her down. "You okay?" he asked as she limped toward the diner door. "How's your ankle?"

"A little stiff," she admitted with a weak nod. "Believe it or not I've never actually ridden on a motorcycle before. A moped through the streets of Rome, yes, but not long distance on a Harley," Emily scanned the diner's interior and spotted a sign toward the back left corner. "I need to use the ladies room."

He grinned. "Why am I not surprised?"

She took no offense to his comment and headed for the restroom. Emily gazed into the small round mirror on the wall and shook her head. "What the heck are you doing?" she asked her reflection. The reflection had no answer for her. She used the toilet, washed her hands, splashed water on her face and then tried to sort her hair, which was helmet smashed and windblown. After a few minutes she felt reasonably put together and rejoined Derek who was seated at a booth by the window.

"You fixed your hair?" he asked. "We're just going to get back on the road after eating."

A frown marred her face, but she was impressed he'd noticed. "Then I'll fix it again the next time we stop," she flashed a defiant smile.

Derek shrugged. "I took the liberty of ordering for you," he pointed toward the waitress who was walking their way.

The young woman sat down a gigantic chocolate milk shake in front of Emily. And another for Derek. She returned a few minutes later with a burger for Morgan and grilled cheese for Emily. "If there's anything else I can get you, just wave me down," the girl offered before hustling off to seat another customer.

Emily stared at the shake for a while before sipping on the long red straw. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she savored the rich decadence of the treat. Her gaze finally settled on Derek and her smile returned. "Thank you," she said before taking a small bite of her sandwich.

All the thanks he needed was written on her face as she continued to enjoy her meal. "So, is there some significance to grilled cheese and chocolate milkshakes?" he finally asked, halfway through his cheese burger.

She grabbed a napkin and wiped her hands. "Not really, just the usual with me. My parents didn't allow such things. The closest I probably ever got to grilled cheese was chicken cordon bleu, and occasionally I was allowed chocolate gelato after dinner. Don't get me wrong, gelato is delicious, especially the multitude of flavors in Italy. But I was only ever allowed a very small scoop, maybe two bites worth," she explained.

"And I thought having to eat all my veggies before desert was bad," Derek sipped his shake. "My dad had a heck of sweet tooth, and mama is a great baker. We'd almost always have cake, pie or some kind of cookies for desert. Thankfully I was blessed with a good metabolism."

The rest of their meal was eaten with little conversation as they watched other diners come and go. They were back on the road within an hour.

Morgan stuck to the back roads. Emily continued to watch the countryside and read signs as they maintained a northern heading, ducking beneath Cleveland to avoid traffic. Then north again to connect with highway 6. From there they edged along Lake Erie, passed by the Vermillion Lighthouse, and an amusement park. The green loop of a large roller coaster felt like her stomach, one giant knot. Only hers hadn't been created for fun, but forged out of continued confusion and worry for her friend.

The best she could do was stick with him, hope to offer some comfort. Let him take his time. About thirty miles east of Toledo it started to rain, and not a gentle trickle, but a serious downpour. They rode that way for ten miles before a flashing sign alerted them to a motel. Derek pulled in, killed the engine and the two of them rushed toward the reception room. It was a small place, kind of a dive, but clean. They removed their helmets and eyed the man behind the counter.

"There's some sort of golf convention or tournament in Toledo this week," the man informed them. "I've got one room left, if you want it you'll have to be fast," he warned. "Phone could ring any minute now."

"We'll take it," Derek pulled out a credit card to start the transaction.

Ten minutes later they climbed a set of not so stable stairs and entered a rather small room. There was a micro-fridge, a TV with a sign that claimed they had cable, a dresser, even a small round table and two chairs. But what caused Derek and Emily the most discomfort was the one queen-sized bed in the room.

"Toledo, home to Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger and the last bed available," Emily quipped.

Derek did his best to ease over the situation. "My dad loved watching M.A.S.H."

She smiled, noticing once again that he'd mentioned his father. But that happy thought caused a deluge of other thoughts. His father's death being at the very top of the heap. Emily thought back to the conversation she'd overheard. He didn't want to be a burden. Not until he knew for sure if it's… what? She'd done such a good job so far of respecting his privacy, of not over thinking it. Now all she could think was cancer, tumors, hospitals, death.

"Hey…" he dropped a saddle bag onto the bed. "You okay?"

"Hmm?" she pulled the small pack off her back. "Yep, fine. I noticed some snacks for sale at the registration office. We could have some popcorn and find a movie to watch. This'll be great," Emily conjured up some false bravado, flashed him a smile, and then slunk out of the room and back into the rain.

Emily returned a few minutes later with three bags of M&Ms and a packet of microwave popcorn. She closed the door and heard the shower running. Relieved, Emily stripped off her wet clothes and pulled on dry undies, shorts and a tank top with built-in shelf bra. Then she threw the popcorn in the microwave and flopped on the bed with a bag of peanut M&Ms. She flipped channels until something appeared on the screen that made her mouth hang open.

Morgan emerged from the bathroom and she excitedly called to him, "You'll never guess what I found on TV." Emily turned her head and found he was dressed only in a pair of grey sweat pants that clung to his hips. The lines of his well defined muscles trailed downward, dead ending somewhere beneath the waist band.

"What?" he asked.

She unconsciously licked her lips, feeling her throat turn dry. "Um, the movie… _Sneakers_. The one I told you about. It's on right now."

He sunk down on one corner of the bed and watched for about a minute before a commercial came on. Derek turned to look at her. "How is it that you couldn't sneak fried foods and milk products into your diet, but TV and movies you had no trouble getting past your parents?"

"I picked my battles," she shrugged. Emily leaned forward and held the bag of M&Ms out to him. He took a few and turned his attention back to the TV. She sighed. "Morgan, you can sit back here with me. I promise not to bite."

The microwave dinged.

Derek jumped up to retrieve the popcorn. He shook the bag and carefully opened it to avoid the steam. Then he walked back to the bed; the blue comforter covered bed that seemed to be an ocean standing between him and Emily. Finally, he plopped down on the bed beside her. "Here," Derek handed over the popcorn bag.

She took the offering, but kept her eyes on the TV, not wanting to make a big deal out of him sitting beside her. It was all so ridiculous the way they were tiptoeing around one another. Like grade school kids passing notes in class, check this box if you like Derek Morgan. Her thoughts drifted in that manner for a while, not paying very close attention to the movie. Emily glanced over and caught Derek watching her. "What's wrong? You don't like the movie, do you?"

"No, it's good," Derek insisted.

His voice sounded relaxed for the first time in months, which made her happy. But she noticed his eyes were still nowhere near focused on the TV. "You're not even watching it," Emily needlessly pointed out.

Without hesitation he reached out to take her hand in his. "I like watching you," Derek replied. "I rarely see you like this. Garcia and I, we hang out and watch movies, but you always seem so buttoned up."

"I watched those old Chaplin movies with all of you," she protested.

"But even when you're joking around there's still this unapproachable quality about you," he replied.

His hand remained glued to hers and Emily wondered how such a simple gesture could turn her insides to mush. She wasn't exactly sure how to take his comments. They didn't seem like a dig, but not a compliment either. "Hello, pot… you can call me kettle," she sassed.

Morgan nodded. "Yes, I know I'm the same way."

As she let her mind refocus a little, a less defensive comment emerged. "I guess at work I do tend to suppress a lot of who I am. I just feel like Hotch doesn't trust me like he does you and Rossi, or even Reid."

"It could just be he's worked with us longer," Morgan tried to ease her discomfort. It really hadn't been his intention to call her out. "Or it could also be that worried thing he does. He's a protector, like me. We both grew up with that; protect the women and children first mentality."

"Yeah," she nodded. "You do both do that."

Morgan drew her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. "Thank you for this time," he said before his eyes settled on the TV.

xxx

_Thank you for this time_.

As Emily lay curled atop the bed, those words kept swimming through her brain, along with the hand kiss, to the point that sleep would not come. It probably didn't help much that Derek had decided to be chivalrous again and sleep on the floor. Even after she'd insisted a dozen times that they could share the bed. She sat up; sweat permeating places that made her uncomfortable. The rain had stopped hours ago and the heat had never left, leaving the air think and sticky. And the hotel had no air conditioning either.

Emily moved from the bed toward the sliding glass doors that led out onto a balcony. Tiny room, but it had a balcony. As she crept past Derek, Emily wondered if he was actually sleeping or not. She couldn't hear him snoring, but that didn't really mean anything. Thankfully the sliding door was quiet and she walked barefoot onto the balcony, greeted by a clear night with a perfect view of the big dipper. It practically filled the northern sky.

"If you follow a line from the two pointer stars on the big dipper you'll find the north star," Derek said.

She turned her head to find him standing behind her. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"No," his head shook. Morgan joined her, both of them leaning against the wood railing on the balcony. "My dad always liked to show me the big and little dippers. They're the only constellations I can identify."

Her lips became a thin line as she hesitated to tell him something. "I hate to burst your bubble, but the dippers are actually asterisms. They're part of the constellations Big Bear and Little Bear. Ursa Major and Ursa Minor."

"Oh," he nodded. "Don't tell my dad. He was always so proud to point them out."

Her heart sunk, feeling horrible for correcting him. Emily looked down at the hotel pool which was situated across the paved parking lot. "We should go for a swim," the idea popped into her head and latched on tightly. She stood up straighter. "Great way to cool off."

"I saw a sign earlier that said the pool closes at nine thirty," Derek let her know. "It's just after midnight now."

"Morgan, the gate around that pool is about three feet tall," she pointed out. "Even with my sore ankle I could hop over it," she took his hand and gave it a tug. "Come on, it'll be fun."

Derek stared at her, wondering what had happened to the calm, even keel Emily Prentiss he'd come to know over the years. "It's breaking the rules."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Like you've never broken a rule, or two dozen, in your life," she sighed, dropping his hand. "Be a stick in the mud if you want, but I'm going for a swim," she announced, darting back into the room and then out the main door.

She was half way across the parking lot when she turned her head and found him following her. Emily smiled but stayed on course, wondering if he'd really break the rules with her. The fence around the pool was actually closer to five feet high, but the gate wasn't locked. She entered the area and walked along the pool's edge. Golden light filtered upward from the bottom of the pool through the blue-green water. She dunked the toes of one foot in to test it. "Perfect temp," she said, noticing that Derek was hovering by the open gate.

Throwing all caution to the wind, she striped off her shorts, which left her clad in only a tank top and panties. Emily chanced a glance at her companion and found him inside the gate. His eyes darted in every direction but hers. She chuckled softly and then moved toward the steps and slowly descended into the pool's tepid water. Submerged to her neck, Emily pushed off and glided through the water with a slow breast stroke. She swam to the opposite end of the pool and back, finding Derek standing at the edge.

"It really feels nice," she tried to tempt him. "And I promise not to look while you take your sweats off," Emily grinned.

Again she pushed off, this time performing a lazy back stroke as she watched him from the corner of her eyes. His sweats came off, leaving him in a pair of navy boxer-briefs. Emily continued her lap as she heard him disturb the water at the other end of the pool. She headed back and found him standing there, water up to mid-torso. Hazy light from wall mounted lamps on the side of the hotel cast shadows across the water lapping around his body. He sunk beneath the surface and came back up, still looking worried and rigid.

"Relax, agent Morgan," she teased, swimming around him. "There aren't any sharks in this water."

His eyes narrowed as they followed her. "I'm not so sure about that," Derek replied.

Laughter bubbled up from the depths of her throat as she stopped in front of him and stood, her wet tank top pressed against the bare skin of his chest. She didn't know if it was the setting, or lack of sleep, or the fact that they'd both nearly died two days ago. But she snaked her arms around his neck, closed her eyes, and tried not to think about complications as she kissed him, fully, wantonly. There were no worries about what would happen two days down the line, or even two minutes.

He tasted like chlorine, toothpaste and cheap motel soap. She never wanted the kiss to end.

But a flash of light shined blindingly in their eyes. "Who's there?" a man's voice called out.

"We're FBI agents," Emily replied as they broke apart and spotted the hotel manager with a flashlight aimed at them.

"Unless you're looking for a dead guy at the bottom of my pool I suggest you get the hell out of there," he growled.

Derek quickly exited the pool, but Emily took her time. Gliding toward the stairs and savoring her last bit of refreshment from the cool water. Once outside, she scooped up her shorts and watched Derek pull on his sweats. Morgan grabbed her hand and they skirted past the motel manager. "Sorry," Emily said, though she couldn't keep the amusement from filling her tone, which turned into a laugh half way to the gate.

"We're very sorry, sir," Derek added with much more sincerity.

They were outside their room when Emily turned to Derek. "We're very sorry, sir," she mocked him. "Let yourself relax for two seconds, why don't you."

"Are you drunk?" he asked, eyeing her as if he had no idea who she was. Thankfully he'd remembered to stuff the room key into his sweat pant pocket. Derek unlocked the door and ushered her inside. "You're behaving like a…"

"What," she challenged. "Someone who wants to have a little fun for the first time in… I don't even know how long," Emily sighed. "Maybe I was wrong to tag along, but I wanted to show you that life doesn't always have to be so serious. We both get bogged down in the job and it's very hard to climb out of it, but… I don't know… I just want you to be happy, Derek. Is that so wrong?"

His heart constricted as he noticed a tear welled in the corner of her left eye. "No," he said, moving across the room to stand in front of her, their wet bodies pressed against one another again. "Actually, it's amazingly thoughtful," Morgan admitted. His hands smoothed over her hair, which was only wet at the tips. "And you are…" his breath hitched as she initiated another kiss. "Gorgeous," he breathed out moments later.

She took a small step away from him and then yanked her tank top off over her head. Emily could see he was nervous, not something she ever would have imagined given the situation. A smile formed as she took one of his hands and placed his palm against her bare mid-drift. "If you're searching for permission, trust me, you have it," she whispered before their lips found one another again.

Derek suckled her bottom lips for more seconds than he thought possible. Then he pushed away from her. "Emily, I… I need to…" his words were a tangled mess in his head as he darted across the room and grabbed his wallet and the keys to his Harley. "I'll be right back."

Emily stared dumbfounded at the door as it swung closed behind him.

xxx

The very cold shower she'd taken had done nothing to quell her desire or her level of confusion. And twenty-five minutes later Derek was still gone. She thought about sleep, but knew it would be even more impossible now. TV was out of the question. She couldn't concentrate. Worry for Derek weighed heavily on her mind, which branched off into all sorts of twisted directions again. She was seated at the little round table staring at the wall when their hotel door swung open.

Derek stood there with an apologetic grin on his face and a paper bag in one hand.

"You left," she said.

His good mood slackened as he sat the bag on the table and knelt in front of her. "I was gone less than a half hour, which is actually impressive since I had to go to two stores to find…"

"No," Emily didn't let him finish. "I mean the other night, and this morning. You were ready to leave knowing full well that those text messages could mean someone was after me," she took a shaky breath. "You were ready to kill Rawson when you thought it might be him, but as soon as Cavitch was behind bars you were just ready to take off – leave me."

"Emily," the tone of her voice cut through him, he'd never seen or heard her so vulnerable before. "You don't ever seem to need me," Derek said.

"That's what you think?" Emily didn't allow room for him to answer. "Of course it is. What indications have I ever given you that I need you? None," she realized, looking him in the eye. "Derek, I've been going it alone pretty much my whole life. I taught myself to read by the time I was three, because books were a way to escape. My parents were always working; they left me at home alone from the age of five onward. I moved so much it was nearly impossible to make friends. I learned to depend on one person only; myself. I honestly don't know how to need anyone," she concluded.

He sighed, feeling terrible for not picking up on all that before. "I'm sorry, Emily. I'm sorry I left you. That wasn't my intention."

"No," Emily stood up. "Your intention is to not tell me a damn thing," she lamented. "And I just keep letting you."

That caused him to completely clam up again. Derek stood, wondering how the steamiest moment of his life had just crumbled. "I need to shower."

She heard the bathroom door open and close. Emily wanted to laugh at their pathetic relationship; seconds away from sex one moment and a five-mile thick wall of avoidance between them the next. She stared at the wall for a moment and then gently banged her head against it. "Why do you confound me, Derek Morgan?" she whispered to herself.

Rubbing her forehead, Emily spun around, not sure what to do next. She spied the paper bag Morgan had left on the table and it sparked far too much interest to let it just sit there. As she opened the bag and peered inside, laughed escaped her lips. "You've got to be kidding me," Emily pulled the jumbo-sized box out and stared at it for a long time.

Moments later, her emotions swinging back around to desire, Emily pushed the bathroom door open. She was assaulted by a wave of steam and a niggling doubt at the back of her mind. The steam dissipated and she pushed the doubt to the farthest corner of her thoughts. With one hand clasped on the chintzy shower curtain, Emily pulled it back. "Looks like you're getting wet in there," she noticed.

Derek had no time to cover himself, too shocked by her appearance. He'd started with a cold shower, which hadn't helped. Then he'd turned to a hot one in the hopes he could scrub away the smell of chlorine, which only led to thoughts of their kiss in the pool. "Emily, what…"

Her left hand came from behind her back, a shiny red condom package pinched between thumb and index finger. "Thought you might need a rain jacket?"

xxx

"I want you," she whispered.

Derek groaned, his arm slung across her bare waist and his face smashed against a fluffy white pillow. "I'm sleepy."

Emily smiled. "Maybe because someone went through six condoms in three hours."

"Someone, meaning you," he replied, propping himself up on one elbow. "You're a wildcat."

"Women usually hit their sexual peak later in life than men."

"Emily, men are always at their sexual peak," he grinned.

Her hand joined his against her belly. "Before, when you said you didn't think I needed you… I guess that's true in some ways. I'm fiercely independent and it's doubtful that will ever change. I know how to take care of myself and I'm not ashamed of that," she twined her fingers with his. "But not needing you doesn't have to be a bad thing. Because even though I might not need you, I want you," Emily finally explained the reasoning behind those words. "Isn't that better than needing you?"

He leaned down to kiss her. "Much," he agreed. Derek settled his head back onto the pillow and was delighted when she laid her head against his chest the way she had several days ago at her apartment. "I've been dying to know what kind of stuffed animal you slept with in the eighth grade?"

She chuckled at the question, and the odd turn of subject. But Emily was slowly learning how to open up to him in more ways than one. "It was a black cat named Sergio. My parents never let me have a real one. We moved around too much and always lived in ambassadorial housing. It wasn't allowed."

"Makes me want to beat up Molly Maguire all the more," he said. Seconds ticked by before a final sleepy whisper slipped past his tongue. "You're not just beautiful when nervous."

Emily finally fell asleep with those words in her head.

xxx

She was seated at the table when he entered their hotel room. Emily had woken up in bed, alone. But this time when she spotted his brown paper bag, she gave him the benefit of the doubt. "You know we still have three quarters of your twenty-four pack left," she teased.

"Who knew gas stations bought condoms in bulk," he shot back. "This time I have cereal," Derek sat two single-serve boxes of fruit loops on the table. "Coffee and orange juice."

Emily smiled. "Cereal and no milk? Interesting."

"Crap," he sank into a chair and sipped his coffee. "Sorry."

"No problem," she retrieved a paper bowl from atop the micro-fridge. Emily dumped one box of fruit loops into her bowl and proceeded to pour orange juice over them.

"I'm guessing this is part of your self-sufficient nature, making the best of any situation," Morgan grinned as he stood and kissed her quickly on the lips. "I need a shower."

She watched him strip down in front of her, his inhibition having disappeared. Emily ate her extra fruity fruit loops, downed her coffee and was cleaning up when something fell out of Derek's jean pocket. She picked up the white napkin and didn't think much of it until she tossed it onto the table and spotted writing on one corner. Emily glanced at it from a distance and noticed her name. She didn't peg Derek as the poetry writing sort, but she was curious.

"Emily Prentiss, United flight 237 to DC, leaves Toledo 2:35PM," she finished reading as Derek exited the bathroom with a towel about his waist. "What is this?" she asked.

"I was going to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

He sighed. "This is so much more complicated now. Yesterday and last night were amazing, Emily. You've made me happier than I thought possible."

"But?" she knew it was coming so hurried it along.

"I really do need to take care of some stuff on my own right now. It's not fair to you, dragging you along especially when I don't even know yet if…"

She finally reached a breaking point. "Just please tell me one thing, are you dying? Do you have some inoperable brain tumor or something equally terminal? And this favor you want to ask me in the future has something to do with pulling plugs, right?" She took a shaky breath but held her hands up before he could say anything. "Never mind, forget I asked. I just thought if I confronted the worst possible scenario and it wasn't true then… I could deal with anything else," Emily concluded.

His arms enveloped her and he kissed her forehead. "I do not have a brain tumor," he said.

She noted that he didn't say he wasn't dying, but Emily instinctively knew he needed her to be the strong one. "Okay. I'll go home and you… you do what you have to do."

xxx

Saying goodbye again had been worse than the last time.

Thankfully the plane trip had been short. She'd sat in the window seat with a mom on the aisle traveling with two kids, one boy of about three in the center seat and another baby boy on the woman's lap. The three year old had spilled water all over Emily's knee, which had caused the mother to apologize profusely. But Emily hadn't minded. She'd even played an entertaining game of I Spy with the tow-headed boy.

It had helped take her mind off Derek.

Now, back in DC, the last few days of her life seemed like a dream. As the cab stopped outside her building, Emily couldn't help wonder if she and Derek had really gone on that spur-of-the-moment road trip together. If they'd actually eaten grilled cheese, sipped chocolate milkshakes, gone swimming and gotten caught. Watched a silly movie, eaten M&Ms, popcorn and fruit loops. Made love in the shower, against the wall, in bed. Slept side-by-side without feeling nervous or regretful.

"Ma'am?" the cab driver prodded her.

Emily looked up, but didn't make a move to leave the cab. She couldn't keep focusing on Derek, which meant she needed something else to occupy her time. Without further thought, Emily gave the cab driver another address. They were off again, slogging through the slippery, rain-coated streets. The weather was cloudy and cool, not warm and pleasant as it had mostly been in Toledo with Morgan. She mentally kicked herself for not lasting more than three minutes without thinking about him.

"He made his decision," she whispered. "I have to respect that. I want to respect that."

"I'm sorry?" the driver queried.

"Nothing," her head shook.

The cab stopped again, this time outside of a very different building across town. She grabbed her small bag, paid the driver and stepped out into the rain. It sloshed against her boots as she walked to the apartment's entrance and scanned the name plates. Emily pushed the door open and decided to hike up the three flights of stairs. The exercise might help burn off the pent up tension in her system. But she was still wired when she knocked on the door.

It opened and she was greeted with arched brows. "This is a surprise," the occupant said.

She stayed outside the door. "I'm sorry to just show up like this, but I need your help. My team thinks that Cavitch being locked away is the end of the case."

"But you don't," the person on the other side of the opened door noted.

Her head shook. "I know it's not. And I need some perspective, fresh eyes. You said you'd help?"

"Certainly," Mick gladly stepped aside to allow her entrance into his place.

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, _Criminal Minds_.

* * *

><p><strong>Constant<strong>

Part 7

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

* * *

><p>She fiddled with a pencil, tapping it against a file folder that was open in front of her.<p>

"I hate to spread bad tidings, luv," Mick spoke up from his spot across her table. "But it's been six weeks and all we know for certain is that Cavitch's DNA was a match for that found on the Mathis woman."

Emily didn't need to be reminded that six weeks had passed since she'd showed up on his doorstep asking for help. It'd been the longest six weeks of her life, wondering if Derek was still breathing, wondering if some crazy person was still gunning for her. Every time her phone rang she pounced on it, hoping it was either Derek or another clue about her mysterious text sender. "Not true," she inflexibly replied.

"We know all the victims had an encounter with a female realtor. That got her in the house," Emily hashed over details they'd already beaten to death. "Gave her time to look around for an easy access point, possibly unlock a window or back door to return later."

Her eyes were blurry from staring at files for three hours straight. But a wild thought spurred her to search for something in the mess of papers on her table. There was a green notebook for information on Cavitch. Yellow for their possible secondary UnSub. Red was for medical related evidence. Blue contained data on every guy that worked with Cavitch at the shipping warehouse. Emily found the red one and flipped through the pages until she found her entry on Cavitch's DNA analysis.

"It doesn't match," she thumped the page with her right index finger and shoved it under Mick's nose.

His eyes scanned the pages. "What?"

Emily sighed. "I can't believe I didn't noticed it earlier. No one noticed it. The ME report states that the blood on the door messages matches our victims. But it doesn't, not exactly."

"You lost me," Rawson admitted.

"The first victim's blood wasn't a match for that found on the door in her bathroom," Emily explained. "However, the blood on the door at victim number two's house matches victim number one. Blood at site of victim number three matches victim number two, and so on down the line."

"That is an oversight," he agreed. "But still not much to go on."

She wasn't deterred. "The blood on the first victim's door doesn't match Jared Cavitch either."

"Then whose blood is it?" Mick asked.

"What if it's the female UnSub," Emily mused, "With the first victim she used her own blood as an outpouring of her pain, the pain of her own divorce or separation. What if she left that message for the victim to see?

"Sort of a warning about the sanctity of wedding vows," Mick surmised. "But why wasn't that enough?" he questioned. "Why the killing, too? Why leave the place open for Cavitch to come in later and murder the victim?"

Her head shook, still not certain of any of it. "I think we need to talk to Cavitch again."

Rawson's eyes rolled. "We've visited him four times and he's only ever uttered three words to you, something along the lines of: Get lost, bitch," he reminded her. "That man doesn't like you and he's already proven he doesn't plan to say a peep about killing those women."

"We can't let him win," Emily stubbornly replied.

Mick closed the red notebook and tidied up her table. Then he took the liberty of going into her kitchen, opening a bottle of wine, pouring two glass and setting one down in front of Emily. He slid into the chair right beside her. "Do you think this quest has more to do with a certain agent who's been missing in action for a while now?" he inquired.

Emily sipped her wine. She loved wine. But at the moment all she could think about was the chocolate milkshake Derek had bought for her in Pennsylvania. "No."

He smiled. "You're very pretty when you lie."

She closed her eyes, not wanting to be reminded of Derek again. But his words echoed in her head. _You're beautiful when nervous. You're not just beautiful when nervous._ Lost deep in those memories, Emily didn't even flinch when she felt a pair of lips pressed against hers. But seconds later her eyes popped open and she stared at Mick. She dropped her wine glass in favor of pressing both hands against his chest.

"What the hell are you doing?" she jumped to her feet, red wine already seeping in to her carpet, blouse and slacks.

"I'm sorry," Mick apologized as she stalked into the kitchen to retrieve a towel.

On her hands and knees, Emily began sopping up the mess. "Why did you even think…" Emily sighed. "I thought I made it clear that you and I were never going to…"

"You did," he stopped her. "But agent Morgan has been gone for weeks and you asked me to help you, instead of your team. I thought things had changed."

"My team has a lot on their minds outside of work," Emily huffed. "JJ struggles to maintain her relationship with Will and spend quality time with Henry. Garcia has Kevin. Reid has been dealing with some stuff in regard to his mother lately and I thought you and I could work together without it being weird. Guess I was wrong."

"And I guess I'm still horrible at reading women," Mick shook his head. "But, he really doesn't deserve you, Emily; taking off for six weeks without a word to you. The man is an idiot for treating you so rudely."

With a last few swipes, Emily deemed the carpet clean enough, at least until her cleaning lady came on Tuesday and could steam out the rest of the stain. She stood in front of Rawson, hands on hips. "But he's my idiot," she finally said. Her initial anger wore off quickly as they walked toward the door. "You loved your wife, didn't you?"

"More than anything," Mick replied, grabbing his coat from a hook.

"And you would've done anything within your power to help her? To save her if you could?"

"Anything," he nodded.

Emily sighed. "Well, this is the best I know how to help Derek right now. Being here, letting him do what he needs to do. Not asking questions. Having faith that he knows what's right for him. Having faith that he'll confide in me when the time is right."

"You really do love him," there was no question in Rawson's tone.

So far, she and Derek's relationship had been anything but a fairytale. But she realized that she did indeed love the stubborn man. Emily nodded. "So, you'll go with me tomorrow?" she asked. "Talk to Cavitch?"

He was surprised. "You still want me to go, even after…"

"Yes, please," Emily said. "8AM?"

"I'll be there."

xxx

Cavitch was brought into the small grey interrogation room by a burly guard. The guard directed the prisoner toward a chair across the table from Rawson and Emily. "You want his restraints left on or off this time?" he asked them.

"Take them off," Emily offered, hoping Cavitch might see it as a show of goodwill. She waited for the guard to remove them and exit the room before she began. "You didn't write those messages on the bathroom doors, did you?" it was the same question she'd asked the man each of the four times she'd previously visited him.

He grinned.

"Must be tough," she continued. "Holding it all inside. Have you told anyone on the inside? Unburdened yourself… bragged about killing those women?"

"You think you're so smart," Cavitch shook his head.

"Well, I did crawl out of the storage container you shipped me off in. I bet that gets under your skin, doesn't it?" she goaded.

"Bitch," he mumbled.

She took a breath and regrouped. "I _know_ you didn't write those messages. Why don't you tell me who did and ease your sentence a little," Emily offered.

"Nice try," Cavitch grinned again, smug as ever.

Emily didn't show him she was frustrated, but she knew Mick was right. He wasn't going to talk to her. "Fine, have it your way." She shrugged and stood, turning to leave.

"Should've paid me a lot more, having to deal with you," Cavitch mumbled under his breath.

Emily whirled around. "What did you just say?"

Cavitch shrugged. "Nothing."

She crossed the room and had her hands on him before Mick or the guard outside the room could process a thought. "If you don't talk you'll go down for all of it, Cavitch. I'll make damn sure of that."

The man grabbed her wrists, spun her and pushed her against the two-way mirror. Emily collided with the metal frame. Rawson dashed across the room toward her. The guard entered and shoved Cavitch against the wall, cuffing his hands behind his back. He heaved him out of the room. Mick placed a worried hand against Emily's shoulder. A small scratch ran along the right side of her nose, the tiniest bit of blood oozing from the wound.

"You okay?" he asked, guiding her toward the door.

"Yeah," she huffed. "I think that went well."

xxx

She did her best to quietly enter the bullpen an hour later. Emily sunk into her chair and lowered her head in the hopes no one would notice the scratch on her nose. She decided to lie about it if asked. Then she realized that was exactly what Derek had done in regard to his forehead gash, which led her to wonder if he'd been questioning volatile criminals as well. Just another item to add to the Derek Morgan mystery list in her head.

"Prentiss?"

Emily looked up to see Hotch standing in his doorway.

"Can I see you in here?" he motioned with his head.

She pushed away from her desk and took a deep breath while climbing the short set of stairs to the catwalk. "What can I do for you?" she pulled a cheerful voice out of nowhere.

"Close the door," Hotch said, taking a seat behind his desk.

That was never good. Closed doors reminded her too much of head master's offices. But she did as instructed.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, not wanting to sit. "Do we have a case?"

He placed his hands against the desk and looked her in the eye. "How'd you hurt your nose?"

The tone and inflection of his words was so calm and so precise that she knew she'd been caught. Emily smiled as she sat down in the chair across from him. For another few seconds she still considered lying. "You already know, don't you?"

Hotch nodded. "Strauss called me into her office a half hour ago. In the last six weeks she's been notified about every visit you've made to Cavitch and every bit of information you've fished from evidence files. She was curious, because as far as I reported we've closed our end of the Cavitch case. I have to say I'm curious as well. But not terribly surprised." He sat back a little. "I'm worried about you, Prentiss. You've become obsessed with this guy."

"That's a pretty strong word," she replied.

"It needs to stop," he informed her.

"And I suppose you stopped searching for answers about the Reaper after he stabbed you?" She knew it was the wrong thing to say, but her mouth hadn't realized until too late.

Another file was flipped open. "Strauss wants you to undergo a psychiatric evaluation."

"I do not need a shrink," Emily protested.

"How many threating text messages have you received since Cavitch has been behind bars?"

"None, but…"

"And how many murders have occurred with the same MO since Cavitch has been behind bars?" he asked.

She knew there was no way around Hotch's block wall. "None."

"And did you nearly empty your clip into our UnSub last week when we were in Idaho?"

Her bottom lip bore the brunt of her frustration as she felt everything sliding out of her control. "I guess I can't really deny that one, can I? Since you were right there when it happened," more than a little sarcasm beaded on every word.

"You need some time off."

"All due respect, Hotch, we're already a man down with Morgan gone," she attempted a last ditch effort to pull herself out of the fire.

"It wasn't an either or proposition, Prentiss. I told Strauss I'd let you have some time off, get away for a few days and see if it helps clear your head. She agreed to that idea in exchange for the evaluation. So, you either take the mandatory leave, or you talk to a psychologist."

"That sounds like either or to me," she pointed out.

He stood and moved around the desk then leaned against it, arms crossed. "At least a week, two weeks if you want. Starting right now. Grab your stuff. You won't be recalled for any reason until at least seven days have passed, so I suggest you make the most of it."

Ten minutes later, Emily sat in her car in the parking garage not knowing what to do with herself.

Her cell rang.

"Unbelievable," she whispered, starring at the caller name. All the times she'd wanted him to call the last six weeks, and now he called when she felt about as low as possible. But Emily wasn't about to give in so easily. "Hello," she answered cautiously, not sure if he was calling from a hospital bed or the ledge of a building about to jump.

"Hey, beautiful," his voice melted her core and she hated him for it. But Emily didn't say a word. "Emily?" he asked. "You still there?"

"Yep," she replied.

Derek sighed. "You sound upset."

"Nope," again she let her response end with a single word.

He laughed at that. "Emily, I'm sorry I haven't called all this time. But I thought you'd be happy to hear from me. I know hearing your voice helps to burry everything else about the last six weeks. And I really want to see you. Can you get away?"

"Have you been talking to Hotch?" Emily finally strung a few words together for him, though probably not the ones he wanted to hear.

"No, why?" concern laced his voice. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

She scoffed, closing her eyes and leaning heavily against the seat. "Maybe you'd know what was going on here, or with me, if you cared to call more than once every six weeks."

"You are upset."

"How perceptive of you, agent Morgan," she kept up the defensive mode.

Derek was silent for a beat. "I don't know how else to say I'm sorry, Emily. I never wanted to hurt you, but I can hear in your voice that I have. I really do want to see you, and maybe try to somehow make up for the last six weeks. And…" he paused a moment. "There's something I really need to tell you."

"Just so happens I have seven days off," she caved a little. "Should I meet you in Chicago?"

"How did you know I was in Chicago?"

Emily couldn't help be proud of the surprise in his tone. "Don't worry, I haven't been spying on you. It's the direction we were headed when the rain hit in Toledo. You have a mother and two sisters there who love you very much. I made a logical conclusion and you just confirmed it."

"Smart girl," he chuckled. "I am back in Chicago now. So, you'll come? Can you fly out today? Be here by this afternoon?"

His level of urgency was somewhat disturbing to her. "I suppose. I should probably pack something, but yeah, I can be there this afternoon."

"Good, call me back with your flight info. I'll pick you up at O'Hare?"

"Okay."

"And, uh…" his voice was softer, calmer with her confirmation. "Pack something warm for the night, maybe a sweatshirt. And some boots with decent ankle support."

"Oh, gee," she quipped. "Are we going for another ride in a shipping container?"

He laughed. "Nope. Call me back when you have a flight."

The line went dead and Emily stared at the blank screen for a moment. Her worry had ebbed a little just to hear his voice. But her curiosity was still on high alert.

xxx

She grabbed her carryon from the overhead bin and waited as the plane slowly disembarked. Emily made her way through O'Hare's C terminal, down an escalator and into the neon light tunnel that led to the B terminal. The light display was a nice distraction from her continued thoughts about Derek. In the last six weeks she'd been through almost every scenario that didn't include a brain tumor. Unfortunately there were a heap of other terminal illnesses in those scenarios.

As she emerged past the secure area of the B terminal, Emily spotted Derek waiting for her. His relaxed smile made all those previous thoughts dissolve in an instant. His strong arms, wrapped about her waist and shoulders, caused her worry to subside. And his moist, warm lips pressed against hers quelled the anger coiled in her belly. Derek took a small step back and a frown marred his previously happy features. "What happened to your nose?"

"Nothing," she shrugged. "Just a small scratch."

He seemed okay with her answer, reaching out to take her bag. Derek traded her for what was in his left hand; a large bunch of brightly colored flowers, mostly orange and pink with a few white. "Some kids at the youth center started a garden this spring," he said.

"They're gorgeous," Emily held them to her nose and realized that the white flowers were honeysuckle.

His free arm remained around her waist. "You should see it; it's packed with wild flowers. And the kids are pretty proud."

"I'd love to," she nodded as they entered baggage claim. "All I brought is the carryon," Emily let him know. "I figured it would be easier to pack on your Harley."

"Shoot," Derek responded with a guilty look. "I guess I should've told you more about what's going on. I actually rented an SUV for our trip because I needed to pack more than my Harley can carry. And now you'll probably hate me because you could've packed more."

"I've learned to pack light due to the job," Emily dismissed. "So, we really are going on a trip?"

Morgan nodded as they stepped outside. The hot afternoon air assaulted them, sun perched high in a clear blue sky. "It was going to be a surprise," he said as they meandered through several rows of cars. "But," Derek nodded toward a dark blue SUV and hit the unlock button on his key fob. "You'll probably guess what's up given the assortment of gear." He opened the back of the vehicle and carefully placed her bag atop a plastic ice chest.

"Hmm," Emily scanned the items. "Tent, cooler, food, fishing poles…" she grinned. "Are we going snow skiing?"

Derek grinned as they entered the vehicle. Emily settled herself into the seat, clicked her safety belt and held the bunch of flowers to her nose again. Her eyes turned to regard Derek as he steered them out of the parking garage and pulled onto the highway. "You look good," she said. "You seem happy… and healthy…"

"Hey," his right hand left the wheel and clasped her hand. "I'm not sick. I promise."

She nodded and relaxed a little more as Derek drove. They arrived at Illinois Beach State Park campground around four o'clock, checked in and parked at the campsite Derek had reserved for them. It was on the beach side and there weren't many other campers around, not surprising for it being a Monday. They got out to stretch their legs and examine the campsite which had a nice cover of trees, fire pit, flat area for a tent, plus a trail through the trees to the beach.

"4,160 acres of land, six miles of shoreline…" Derek began.

"Okay, doctor Reid," she chuckled.

He smiled and took her hand. "We should put the tent up first, and then go for a walk."

Emily agreed, still somewhat curious about the trip, but mostly trying to enjoy the moment. They got the dome tent set up quickly and she arranged her flowers in an empty soda can, which Derek had opened wider with his pocket knife, on the picnic table. Then they set off for a walk. They were gone for over three hours exploring the beach and sand dunes, and returned to fix dinner with plenty of daylight left in the early August day. After an exciting meal of beanie-weenies that Derek cooked, and some clean up, he led her back to the beach.

They spread out a red plaid blanket and laid there waiting for darkness to swallow the day.

Derek turned to his side, snuggled against her. "This is nicer than a cheap motel in Toledo, isn't it?" Morgan asked.

"Yes, but I kind of liked that motel. Good memories there," Emily drew him closer for a kiss. "Renewed my faith in roadside motels a little."

He pulled a small red velvet box from his back pocket and rested it on her sweatshirt covered stomach. "This made me think of you, I had to buy it," he watched as she sat up and opened it. Daylight was already fading fast, but there was just enough to make the necklace sparkle.

She gazed at the pendant which was made up of three silver, downward-aiming arcs with small diamonds on each end. "It's gorgeous."

"The sales lady told me it's meant to represent shooting stars," Morgan relayed.

Emily was a bit tongue tied as Derek helped her fasten the necklace around her neck. "Not sure what I did to deserve this special treatment, but thank you," Emily placed a hand over the pendant against her chest. "For this, the flowers, a camping trip when I was getting way too bogged down by… everything."

"You're welcome," he replied as they laid down again, her head resting against his chest. "But you are worth so much more to me than flowers and jewelry."

They silently watched as the clear sky gave birth to more and more stars.

"Which one is the open book constellation?" Derek asked.

"The what?" she asked with a furrowed brow. "There's no constellation called an open book." Even in the minimal light, Emily could see disappointment in his dark eyes. She had a pretty good feeling his question once again revolved around his father and their time together at the very same park. "Describe it to me," she encouraged, hoping to solve the mystery.

"All I remember is three fairly bright stars in the middle and two on either side which were a little more distant in spacing," he tried to explain, but ended up drawing a diagram in the air for her. "The three stars in the middle were kind of like a book spine and the others flared out to create the illusion of an open book." He watched her for a moment, her brows bunched in thought. "You still have no idea what I'm…"

"Orion," she interrupted him. "I'm pretty sure you mean Orion. The three bright stars are his belt. But it's too late in the year to see Orion. It's visible during winter nights."

He nodded. "Makes scene. My dad and I would usually come up here in the winter because he had more time off then."

She loved hearing him recall happy memories of his father, wishing she had such a relationship with her father. "Orion was an expert hunter, very skilled. Kind of reminds me of you, the way you hunt down bad guys. I'm afraid you do not remind me of an open book, though," her head shook a little.

"No, not really," he kissed her temple. "But I guess there's a first time for everything." Derek took a deep breath. Then he sat up and drew her along with him so they were facing one another. He took her hands in his before he continued. "There's a cabin several miles north along this same stretch of beach, just over the border into Wisconsin. It used to be owned by a man named Carl Buford," he looked to her for some sign of recognition. "You're not stupid are you, Emily?"

Everything about their quiet evening on the beach had changed with the mention of that man's name. "I don't like to think so," she whispered.

"You're not," he insisted. "So, tell me… when Buford was arrested and James Barfield came forward with his accusations... what did you conclude?"

"Derek, I don't want to…"

"Don't coddle me, Emily. I expect way more from you than that," his voice was caught somewhere between anger and fear. "I appreciate the way you've been able to restrain yourself from asking questions all this time. But I want you to be honest with me now. Speak your mind. Tell me. What did you think?"

A pained expression marred her façade. "That he'd done the same thing to you."

"He did. At that cabin," Morgan confirmed, "Only a few miles from this park where I spent those precious days with my father, fishing and not catching anything; talking about everything, making up our own names for constellations. Buford took this from me, Emily. This place and the best memories of my father. Some days I hate him most for that."

She knew he needed her to be strong. "You're wrong, Derek. You wouldn't be here right now sharing this place with me if he'd taken all the good memories away. Your father will always be in your heart, and Carl Buford can never touch that. He can never take that from you," she promised.

He kissed her palm and looked her in the eye again. "I didn't hit my head on a beam, Emily."

"I know."

Morgan took a shaky breath. "There was no pipe that burst. And you were right; I'd never be part of something like a fight club. She threw that pipe at me."

His final six words caused her more confusion than the last several months of their lives. "Who?"

"Tamara Barnes."

Emily searched her memory. "I know that name…" a pretty face soon formed in her mind's eye, and the details of a case came rushing to the forefront of her mind. "Her brother was killed by those three home invaders in DC last October." She also remembered the way Morgan had tended to the woman's concerns, and how he'd been the only one of the team not to walk away as those creeps made their final performance in a horrific suicide by cop display.

The gentle lap of water against the shore was the only sound for seconds that rolled into minutes.

"She and I talked on several occasions after that case," Morgan finally spoke again. "She was upset and trying to understand why her brother was killed in such a senseless act. It was coffee at first," he continued, "Which quickly led to lunch, dinner, drinks…"

"Sex?" Emily bravely asked.

Derek's head bobbed once in an affirmation. "A relationship, I guess."

"You guess?" she didn't know what to think. Emily knew for a solid fact there'd been plenty of women before her. But something about knowing he'd been involved with a victim's sister unnerved her. "Was it just once or…"

"Not once," he replied. "Emily, I didn't love her. Not the way I love you."

She got to her feet, hands balled. Her bare feet squished in the sand which was still warm from the day's sun. Emily walked toward the shoreline, trying to digest his words.

Morgan followed her and rested a hand against the small of her back as they stood inches from the water. "That came out really wrong. Not at all the way I'd imagined saying those words to you for the first time. You're not the only one who's bad at relationships."

The tone of regret she heard in his voice made her calm down a little. Worry took the place of hurt feelings as she turned to face him again. "Why did she throw a pipe at you?"

"I ended things with her shortly before they began," his voice was stronger, resolved to tell her more. "But after what happened with Haley and that first case right away… I found myself back at her place seeking comfort. Then I did end it. I was done. But she wasn't."

"What does that mean?"

He sighed. "Phone calls telling me what an asshole I was for leading her on. She'd find me working on one of my project homes, she'd yell and throw things one minute and try to kiss me the next. She was a mess of emotions, up, down…" he took a breath. "Several times she told me she loved me and that if I didn't take her back she'd kill herself."

"That's emotional blackmail, Derek," Emily felt a pain in her stomach, the stab of guilt for not seeing sooner what he'd been going through. "It's…"

"Abuse," he squeezed the word past dry lips. "Verbal. Physical."

Emily's heart broke. She didn't want to coddle him, but she couldn't help the desire to wrap him up in her arms and never let go. "Derek, why didn't you tell me? Someone? Garcia?"

Morgan's jaw was set. "Penelope warned me not to get involved with her in the first place," he revealed. "And, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not so good at talking about my feelings. I'm a grown man, Emily. When I was a boy I didn't know better. I was trying to dig myself out of the gangs, create a better life for myself, but now… how the hell was I supposed to look you in the eye and tell you that I let some women abuse me?"

"Hey," she bit her lip, her tongue, the inside of her cheek. But nothing could keep her tears at bay. "This isn't your fault. You didn't let her do anything, Derek. What were you supposed to do, hit her back? You'd never do that, not even provoked."

"No, I just got good at hitting walls."

"Bruised knuckles," Emily whispered. Some things became clear. How tired and depressed he'd seemed. The lying about his injuries. All signs of abuse. The thought had never even crossed her mind, and she wanted to berate herself for it.

"It's not your fault either," he whispered in her ear as he held her close. "I can see you blaming yourself, Emily. Please don't do that."

She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, but then stepped back. Emily smiled at him and initiated a kiss, just a brief touch of lips. "I love you, too."

His eyes narrowed a little and he let go of her. "I don't want your pity."

"That's good then, because you don't have it," she replied forcefully, grabbing his hand, pressing her palm against his again. "I do not pity you, Derek. I'm proud of you for telling me what you just told me."

He relaxed a little. "I did want to tell you. Those two nights I showed up at your condo. There was never any ant extermination going on at my place. I needed to get away from the places she knew, all my properties. And I tried to tell you, but the words were never right," Derek revealed.

"At least you got away from her," her voice softened as her thoughts trickled down another path that caused her stomach to tighten again.

"What?" he noticed the worried look in her eyes.

"The text messages, Derek," Emily breathed out. "They were from Tamara, weren't they? Who was I with both those nights besides Mick? You." The evidence fit perfectly. "And who would threaten me to stay away from you?"

Morgan's head shook. "No, she wouldn't."

"Hear me out?" Emily asked, somewhat worried about his defense of the woman. "Very few people have my phone number, right? Mainly the bureau, the team and my parents."

"Solicitors always figure out ways to gain access to unlisted numbers," he reminded her.

"True," she agreed. "But it makes a heck of a lot more sense that she got to your phone, found the team's numbers and copied them down for some reason. Then when you left your place those two nights after fighting with her, she follows you to my place and…" Emily felt the rest was self-explanatory.

"So you think she helped Cavitch kill all those women?"

Her head shook. "No, I just think she sent those messages." She sighed with resignation, "I guess maybe Cavitch really did work alone."

"But Garcia traced those numbers to that pay phone near where Cavitch worked."

Emily had to admit that much did not sit well with her. "Don't numbers get recycled?" she asked. "We never did run that possibility."

"Here's a possibility I've been considering... doesn't Rawson have your phone number?" Morgan asked.

With her eyes closed for a second, Emily sighed again. "Yes, he does."

"Then anyone he knows could have accessed your number as well," Derek concluded. He could see the response about to form on her lips. "Please, can we not talk about any of this for the rest of the night? Or the rest of this trip? I wanted us to spend time out here in order to escape all of it, the murders, Cavitch, Tamara, Mick. I just want a few days with you and nothing from the outside world to spoil our time together. Can we do that?"

She still didn't know what the last six weeks had been about, or his mysterious favor. But relaxation was a very worthy goal and she wanted to believe it was possible. "Okay."

xxx

Three days had been spent lounging in the summer sunshine, swimming, fishing and not catching a single bite. They'd gone for long walks on the beach every day, gazed at the stars at night, and made love on an air mattress in their tent sanctuary away from the real world. On Thursday evening they dropped Emily's things at the Hotel Derek was staying at, turned the rental in and picked up his Harley. They were parked outside of Fran Morgan's apartment by seven o'clock, after having swung by the youth center to pick flowers.

"I was hoping he'd bring you by," Fran greeted Emily with a warm smile. "Thank you," she graciously accepted the flower bouquet.

"You're welcome," Emily replied nervously. Not a single guy she'd dated had ever invited her to meet the parents. This visit wasn't exactly the norm, though, considering she'd already met Derek's mother under very different circumstances. "Thank you for inviting me to dinner," Emily said. "Can I help in any way?"

"No, thanks," Fran replied, kissing and hugging her son. She turned back to Emily. "I figured after several days of Derek's one and only specialty, beanie-weenies, you could use a decent meal," the woman chuckled. "It's all ready, table is set," she waved a hand toward the dining area. "You two sit and I'll grab the food," she insisted.

Several hours later, after a huge meal of pasta, salad and chocolate cake, the three of them sat in the living room sipping wine and talking about Derek's Jimmy Hendricks phase at the tender age of seven. "You had a guitar?" Emily asked.

"He had some mangled piece of cardboard he'd cut out from a refrigerator box," Fran laughed at the memory. "My husband promised Derek if he worked hard and saved money from his paper route that we'd match every cent. Derek was determined to save for a real electric guitar."

"And the wah-wah pedal," Morgan added, playfully nudging his mother's shoulder.

Emily enjoyed watching their closeness. "Did you get it?"

Derek's head shook. "No, I grew out of my rock star phase. And after daddy died I only ever wanted to be a cop."

"Oh," Emily nodded, seeing the small note of sorrow in Fran's eyes.

"What led you to law enforcement, Emily?" his mother asked.

After a sip, Emily replied, "At age twelve I had my life mapped out. I wanted to study fine arts at college, maybe journalism. Then I'd meet the man of my dreams and we'd marry after he finished medical school. A year later we'd have our first child, a girl. Two years after that we'd have a little boy. I'd take care of the kids and maybe write a book," Emily felt rather foolish recalling those childhood dreams. "But my parents claimed an art degree was frivolous."

"To spite them you went a completely opposite direction," Fran concluded.

Emily shrugged. "Sort of. I also went into law enforcement because of the Molly Maguire's and Hattie Carlson's of the world," she eyed Derek. "I hate bullies."

Fran reclined a little further against the sofa. "I married a cop to spite my parents," she revealed. "Well, not exactly. Don't get me wrong, I loved Sid with all my heart. But I never would have met him if I hadn't gone to nursing school here in Chicago rather than California where everyone in my family attended school."

It amazed Emily how easily she was able to talk and relate to Fran. She was so glad she'd given in to Derek's desire for a few days of relaxation.

There was a knock on the door and Fran reluctantly got up to answer.

"Is Derek here, ma'am?"

Morgan and Emily stood and moved toward the door having heard the familiar voice. A stout, dark-haired man stood in the doorway. "Gordinski," Derek said, unable to let go of several years' worth of harassment at the officer's hands. "What do you want?"

"I was called out on a homicide this afternoon," the officer replied.

"And you think I did it?" Derek was on the defensive.

"Not at all," Gordinski shook his head. "There was something odd about a message left at the scene. I did some quick research and I heard you were in town, so…" he handed over a file. "I think you should take a look at the scene photos."

Derek opened the file and Emily glanced over his shoulder. They both stared at the bloody words smeared on the back of a door. "In good times and in bad…" Emily read.

"Victim was thirty-eight year old Patricia Grant," Gordinski informed them.

"She was raped, stabbed, killed by a gunshot wound?" Derek asked.

The officer's head shook again. "Throat was slashed. But your team caught a guy with a similar MO in regard to the wedding vow messages, right?"

"We did," it was Emily who responded.

"Then you might want to call them in," Gordinski advised.

Morgan nodded. "We'd like to visit the crime scene."

"Sure," the officer agreed. "You can follow me there."

Emily and Derek grabbed their things and apologized to Fran for leaving in such an untimely manner. They were almost to Derek's Harley when Emily felt her phone vibrate. She glanced at the text message and her stomach tightened. "Derek," she stopped him on the sidewalk.

Unsure of what to say, she let him read the message.

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, _Criminal Minds_.

**Sorry this update took a while... last week was full of job interview stress and holiday gatherings, oh my! Please enjoy this part...**

* * *

><p><strong>Constant<strong>

Part 8

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

* * *

><p>"Are you cold?" she asked.<p>

"No," he responded.

Emily sat behind him on the parked Harley, the very bike she'd enjoyed riding on as they'd wound their way through beautiful countryside a month and a half ago. Now, as she stared at the dark house across the street, Emily kind of hated the motorcycle. She hated that it had made her vulnerable to the charms of Derek Morgan, made her open up to him, allowed him to open up to her in return. Mostly, she hated that she'd let herself fall so completely in love.

Because it was killing her now to watch him close himself off again.

She gazed up at the night sky, desperately searching for a star or two. But the city lights were far too bright to see any stars. "Are we going to talk about that text message or…"

"We already talked about it, didn't we?" his tone was defensive, his words clipped. "You stated your opinion about what it means. I don't agree. Not much more to be said."

"How can you be so childish about this?" Emily mumbled.

His head turned. "Excuse me?"

"This silent treatment, Derek," she spoke a little louder. "We've been alternating between sitting out here and circling the block for over five hours, keeping our eyes on Patricia Grant's house. And you've said a grand total of about two dozen words to me. The team is going to be here in a few hours. Are you planning to talk to them about what's going on?"

Derek's eyes were intently focused on the victim's home again. "Emily…"

"No," she stopped him. "Forget it. It's no big deal. There's just the possibility that other women's lives could be at stake. My life could be in danger, but what the heck…"

"Emily," he swung his leg over the bike and motioned toward the building across the street. "I saw a flash of light in the house. Come on."

She immediately sprang into action.

Patricia Grant's place was a row house with stone façade. It was situated in a fairly decent neighborhood; clean street, manicured yards. They climbed the front steps and pulled their weapons when they reached the porch. Morgan ripped the crime scene tape covering the door and they entered into the foyer. The place was dark and quiet, only the narrow beam of light from Derek's Glock attachment guided them through the space. A creak of floorboards above their heads sent them rushing toward the stairs.

"FBI!" Morgan's voice boomed through the upper floor as they moved room from room.

"This is a crime scene under police surveillance," Emily informed their intruder. "Come out with your hands where we can see them," she instructed the darkness.

They reached Patricia's bedroom, the room they'd already investigated several hours ago. The queen sized bed was still covered in bloody sheets from where her throat had been cut. It wasn't terribly visible in the darkened room, but the smell of death and blood lingered. Another creak sounded behind them and both agents spun toward the sound coming from the bathroom. Then a loud thump was followed by a rush of footsteps down the hardwood stairs.

"He's running!" Derek exclaimed as they exited the bedroom and made a move toward the stairs.

They tracked the noisy prowler toward the back of the home, having heard a screen door slam. But the shadowy figure disappeared into the unlit alley. "He can't have gone far," Emily guessed. "We should split up. Left and right," she waved a hand toward the right, indicating she'd take that direction. Emily hustled down the alley before he could protest. She didn't have any kind of flashlight on her, but her eyes had adjusted well enough to spy into backyards and behind garbage cans.

She reached the end of the alley with no sign of the phantom they'd been chasing. Emily was on her way toward the front of the block when she heard Derek's Harley roar to life. Her feet picked up the pace, wondering if he'd spotted their guy and was taking off after him, but as the bike went zooming past her Emily spotted Derek sprinting toward her. "Bastard stole my bike," Morgan growled.

"Then we need to find a new set of wheels, fast," Emily holstered her weapon and started to scan the crowded street. It was lined, bumper to bumper, with cars.

Morgan's eyes widened. "You're gonna steal a car?"

"Borrow," Emily countered as she spotted an older model Chevy compact. The driver's side lock was clearly in the unlocked position. "It's not really stealing when people leave their doors unlocked," she quipped. "Besides, we have the authority to commandeer a vehicle if required for police matters," she didn't waste any more time arguing, sliding into the driver's seat and reaching across to unlock Derek's door. Emily opened the glove box and searched its contents.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked.

Finding nothing there, her hands reached under the driver's seat and she smiled. "Looking for this," Emily pulled a small black plastic box out and slid it open to reveal a silver key. "It was magnetized to the seat mechanism," she said. "Usually people leave them on the outside of a car, but since this one was left unlocked, I made a wild guess. Someone must not care very much about this car."

"It's a 1980-something Chevy Cavalier," Morgan replied, as if that explained everything. "Grand theft auto," Derek mumbled as he closed the passenger side door.

Emily flicked on the headlights, put the car in gear and jerked the vehicle away from the curb. "What was that?"

"Nothing, just ticking off another Emily Prentiss pastime. Star gazing, poetry writing, car pilfering…"

With her boot pressed firmly against the gas pedal, Emily sped down the block. "I've only done this a few times before, and we always returned the cars to where we took them from."

"In that case, you were a stupid criminal," Morgan shook his head. He pointed toward the next block. "I think he turned here."

She followed his pointed finger, but the street was devoid of any taillights. "Call Garcia," Emily ordered him. "We need her to help track your bike before this guy can ditch it."

"My Harley doesn't have a LoJack system," he regrettably replied.

"But my cell phone has GPS tracking and I stuck it in your saddle bag earlier while we were watching the house," she let him know. Emily caught the impressed smile he flashed her way while dialing Garcia. "And I don't mean we knocked on people's doors and explained that we'd taken their car for a joy ride. We were rebellious teenagers, but not stupid. We just made sure to leave them in close proximity to where we'd taken them from so they'd be found."

His head shook again. "You are certainly not like any woman I've ever known before."

A half smile graced her features. "Is that a good thing, or bad?" Emily inquired.

"I'll get back to you on that. My track record with women right now is pretty much tied with Rossi for last place," Derek replied just before Garcia picked up.

"How may I be of service?" Penelope answered.

"Baby girl, I need you to locate Emily's cell phone for me."

"Okie dokie," the tech replied, sounding relatively perky for it only being four in the morning at Quantico. She didn't even question the slightly odd request. "It would seem Emily's cell phone is headed south on Canal Street, about to cross fourteenth. That's rather impressive momentum for a phone."

"Turn left here," Derek told Emily while keeping Garcia on the line. They traveled a few blocks, hit another left and spotted the glowing red taillight from his Harley. "Got him," Morgan said through the phone. "Thanks, baby doll, you're the best," he ended the call.

Emily tried not to take offense when he spoke to Garcia in such a favorable way, after giving her the cold shoulder for hours on end. And she tried not to take his bad track record with women comment to heart. But it felt like all the strides they'd made in their relationship the last few months were slipping between her fingers. She concentrated instead on the motorcycle in front of her. The Chevy was not nearly as powerful or fast, which meant they needed to trap the guy.

"Is there some place nearby we can funnel him to, box him in?" she asked.

"Yep, keep him heading west," Derek directed. "There's an abandoned housing development, one road in and out. Lots of dead end cul-de-sac blocks." The bike rider tried to weave away from their pursuit, but Morgan was impressed by the way Emily stuck close to him. He pressed both hands against the dashboard as she made an especially hairy turn. "I suppose next you're going to tell me you used to be a stunt car driver?"

"Nope," she replied, taking a hard right into the housing development. "But I did crash a few of my daddy's favorite cars; one Beamer, one Jag."

Morgan winced, but his focus returned to the chase. "Corral him into that cul-de-sac there," he pointed out. Three houses on one side of the street were mostly constructed. One on the other side needed roofing and windows. Another two were just skeletons. "This whole development lost funding almost six months ago. These places are probably gonna rot before the economy rights itself. What a waste," Derek lamented as they spotted the bike and rider circling around the end of the cul-de-sac. He was coming straight toward them.

"Hold on," Emily warned as she turned the wheel and slammed her breaks at the same time.

The old Chevy skidded several feet, but successfully blocked the rider from escape. The Harley swerved to miss them and landed heavily on its side, pinning the rider's leg. Emily was impressed that Morgan didn't seem upset about the bike's crash as they both exited their vehicle and aimed weapons on the man trapped beneath the heavy motorcycle. "Hornet?" Derek's eyes squinted, getting a better look at the man. He was African-American, slightly shorter than Derek but about the same weight.

"You know him?" Emily asked.

Derek nodded. "He runs with a gang banger I wish I didn't know. Rodney Harris."

xxx

Memories of the last time he'd been in the very same interrogation room swamped Morgan's thoughts for a moment. None of them were good memories. But he regrouped quickly, circling the slightly younger man who was seated at the table. Hornet wore all black clothing, including a skull cap. Emily stood by the door, arms folded across her chest as she allowed Derek to take the lead. "What were you doing at Patricia Grant's house?"

The man shrugged. "Just, you know… looking."

"Looking?" Derek scoffed. "You mean helping yourself to a little five finger discount." His head shook. "Stealing from the dead? That's low, Hornet, even for a lowly gang banger such as yourself. Now, tell me the real reason you were there. Did you forget to wipe your prints off something? Or maybe you were cleaning up for someone else, someone you'd protect no matter what? Who are you trying to protect, Hornet? Or, more importantly, who would you commit murder for?"

"Nah, Derek, it wasn't like none of that. See…"

"You may call me _agent_ Morgan," Derek sneered at the man. "And unless you start speaking the truth and stop covering for that waste of space, Harris… you're gonna be spending a long day sitting in here with me. Even if you didn't kill that woman, I'll make you wish you were in jail."

A knock sounded at the door and Gordinski poked his head in. "Your team just arrived," he let them know.

"Why don't you get our guest here some water," Morgan suggested to the detective. "He's looking a little sweaty," Derek exited the small room with Emily on his heels. "I doubt he was just there to steal. That area of town is pretty far out of Rodney's pack zone, which makes me think they had something to do with the actual murder."

Emily frowned. "That's kind of a large leap, isn't it? As was your insistence that we camp outside Patricia Grant's home in the first place."

"I had a feeling about it," was all he said as they emerged from the short hallway and into the main precinct area, which was rather compact. The first thing Derek noticed was the dark haired British man mulling about the area. "What the heck is Rawson doing here?"

"I asked him to come along," Emily could practically feel the anger radiating off Derek. His behavior the last few months had been an emotional roller coaster and Emily was a little worried about him and Mick being in the same proximity again, but she very calmly stated her reasoning for inviting the agent. "He grabbed all the case information at my place, and he knows the details as well as I do."

Morgan's jaw tightened, but he refrained from any rude comments as he greeted the team. He reported the latest details to Hotch, "The guy we caught prowling around the victim's home runs in a gang led by Rodney Harris."

"You and Harris have some bad blood between you," Hotch recalled, but he quickly shifted gears. "What do we have other than the bathroom message to indicate this is connected to the women Cavitch killed?"

Pulling her cell phone free, glad to have retrieved it from Derek's bike earlier, Emily brought her text message up. "There's this," she offered the phone to Hotch, remembering that he'd demanded to know about any more messages she received.

"It should've been me on that beach with him… only two vows left before it's your turn," Hotch read the words aloud and handed the phone back. "Does that seem random to you?"

She caught Morgan's eye, carefully contemplating her answer. "I think the person sending these messages is unlikely to be involved with the case. I do believe it's all random."

"But this message came shortly after the new murder," Rossi pointed out, "Similar to the other messages and murders."

"However, Patricia Grant was killed by a knife slicing her throat," Reid entered the conversation. "That doesn't track with Cavitch's MO. Even if he had a partner, it seems likely the partner would imitate Cavitch's style. Usually a killing duo has one dominate and one submissive partner. The fact that Patricia Grant wasn't sexually assaulted or shot suggests that Cavitch was the dominate partner. The submissive wouldn't be bold enough to perform the rape. But he would more than likely either stab or shoot the victim in a similar manner."

"I doubt these two killers even knew one another," Mick spoke up. "Cavitch did mention something about being paid."

Hotch's brows arched upon hearing that important news. "When was that?"

Rawson looked to Emily and she shook her head just a little to indicate she hadn't revealed that information to her boss. "When Emily and I went to visit Cavitch that last time he mentioned it just before he slammed Emily against the mirror," Mick explained everything. "I imagine Cavitch was just a hired gun. And it seems likely that this new killing was performed by another hired criminal. They've each got their own style. No connection."

"Except the wedding vow messages continue the pattern," JJ noted.

"Let's see if we can tie up some loose ends," Hotch spoke again. "Reid, examine Patricia Grant's body for any sign of similarities to Cavitch's kills that might have been overlooked. Dave, I'd like you to continue questioning this Hornet person," he instructed. "Morgan, you can approach Harris, but I want you to take Prentiss and Rawson with you." Hotch could see that order didn't sit well with the man, but he pressed on. "JJ, get Garcia to find out if anyone has been making trips back and forth between Chicago and the DC area."

xxx

Mick Rawson practically jumped out of the SUV before it had fully stopped. Derek had been the one to drive them to the youth center, but Rawson was egger to help. "I'll just pop inside and see if anyone here has seen our gang member," Mick announced before he left them.

"What's with Mr. Perky. Is that guy for real?" Morgan asked, exiting the vehicle along with Emily. "I still can't believe you asked him here."

"He knows details about this case no one else does," Emily replied.

Derek watched her for an uncomfortable moment. "Like the very real possibility that Cavitch was paid to commit those murders?" he asked. "You certainly managed to leave that little detail out of our conversations the last few days. And is that scratch on your nose from Cavitch throwing you against the wall?" Morgan asked.

She nodded. "He doesn't like me very much."

"What was your first clue? When he said that women in the police force were a waste, or when he tossed us into that container?" Morgan walked toward the door. "And why did you tell Hotch you didn't think your text message had anything to do with the case? Just last night you were berating me about giving you the silent treatment because we were on opposite sides of the text message culprit issue. Are you telling me now you don't think it was Tamara?"

"No," her head shook. "I lied to Hotch to save our asses. No doubt it'll probably backfire on us big time. But I thought you'd appreciate not having your private life broadcast all over Gordinski's precinct again."

He took a moment to think clearly and nodded as the two of them entered the youth center. "Emily, I'm sorry if I…"

"That nice fellow over there," Rawson interrupted, striding toward them as he pointed toward a young man of about nineteen or twenty, "Just told me that Rodney Harris hasn't been seen around these parts for a few days."

The first smile in hours lit Emily's face as she recognized the boy. "I'd like to say hi to James," she took off without further word to Derek or Mick.

Both male agents stood there silently for a moment, pride and territorial issues causing them to glare at one another. "Look, mate," Rawson finally addressed Morgan. "I don't know if she told you yet or not, but I feel I should let you know that I kissed her and…"

Derek didn't wait for another word. His right hand balled into a fist and punched Rawson in the jaw. Mick rocked backward but remained on his feet. "You will stay the hell away from her," Morgan growled at the bleeding man.

"What is wrong with you?" Emily stalked across the youth center, James Barfield beside her. "James, could you get Mick some ice or a damp cloth maybe?" she asked. When the young man escorted Rawson toward the restrooms at the back of the building, Emily spun her glare back on Derek.

"He told me about the kiss, Emily," Morgan's fury shown through in the words he spoke. He flexed his sore knuckles and looked her in the eye. "Did you sleep with him, too? Has it been going on since you left Toledo? Straight from my bed to his. I suppose he's better at that, too. His flowers were certainly nicer. I guess wildflowers from some ghetto garden just can't compare with pink roses."

"Don't do this," her voice was a dangerous whisper.

"What?"

Her eyes blazed, but she kept calm on the outside. "You sent me away, Derek. Do not stand here now and get angry at me for finding someone else to help me. He's spent the last six weeks supporting me in trying to find out who's really behind these murders."

"I'm sure he was more than happy to help," Derek continued with his hurtful comments. "I bet he's the one who put this idea of Tamara being behind those messages into you head."

"Stop it," Emily warned, though her voice still didn't raise even a single octave. "It's not going to work on me. Don't you get it by now? I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to yell at you or hit you, no matter how much you push my buttons." She took a shaky breath. "I still don't know what all is going on in that head of yours, and it's frustrating the hell out of me, but I made you a promise before and I'll tell it to you over and over until you really understand. You can tell me anything."

Emily sucked down another breath, feeling a little stronger, but still worried. One hand reached to him, clasping his beefy palm against hers. "I'm not like her, Derek. Not at all. I would never do the things she did to you. I'd never hurt you like she did," Emily insisted. "Not with words or with actions. But you should understand one thing. You better damn well never speak to me like that again or we are over."

His heart broke as he felt the warmth of her hand slip from his. He watched her stride away, feeling like the biggest idiot who ever walked the Earth.

Rawson approached him.

"You didn't exactly let me finish," Mick bravely spoke to the impulsive agent. He held a small plastic bag of ice against his swollen jaw. "I was trying to tell you that I kissed Emily, but she pushed me away. She didn't kiss me back. Apparently she's in love with you, for what reason I cannot comprehend," his head shook. "I came here to help her, because I'm worried about those text messages targeting her. But I also came to help you."

Taking a second to let his guard down, Derek asked, "How's that?"

"I know what it means to lose the thing you love most," Mick responded. "And I pray that you never have to find out what that's like."

xxx

Emily reentered the precinct two hours later with a heavy heart. She hated having to give Derek an ultimatum, but it seemed the only way to get through to him. And she hoped it would help him realize she wasn't going away without a fight. Emily watched Hotch's eyes narrow as she, Derek and Rawson approached the group. "What happened to your jaw?" Reid was the first to say anything about the very visible cut on Mick's lower lip.

"Just a little scuffle," Rawson looked to Morgan. "I think it's sorted now," he concluded.

"Did you find Harris?" Hotch questioned.

"No," Derek replied. "Apparently no one has seen him in several days."

Hotch let the issue go as he directed them all toward Gordinski's office down the hall. The team squeezed into the small space as JJ spoke to Penelope via the speaker phone on the detective's desk. "Everyone's here, Garcia. Go ahead," JJ insisted.

"Chicago to DC, and vice versa, seems to be a very popular roundtrip flight," Garcia revealed. "I sifted through the lives of dozens of lawyers, bankers, editors, doctors, etcetera who popped up on that list, but I quickly weeded through all of them and discovered two very interesting names. Rodney Harris and Tamara Barnes. Each of them have made multiple trips in the last five to six months," Penelope informed them.

"Any idea why?" Hotch questioned.

"No," the tech replied. "But I dug just a little bit more into their travel arrangements. Apparently Ms. Barnes likes to stay at the Regency, a swanky hotel in downtown Chicago. Rodney Harris, on the other hand, he has no traceable movements while in the DC area, no credit cards used to rent a car or to stay at a hotel."

"What about timing of their trips? Do they coincide with the murders at all?" Rawson inquired.

"Actually, no," Garcia supplied. "Tamara was in DC when all the murders occurred there. Rodney was in Chicago at the time of those murders. Ms. Barnes first traveled to Chicago two months before the murders. Rodney Harris' first trip to DC was also around the same time, about a few weeks after she was back in DC."

"So they were always in the same town at the same time, no leap frogging?" Emily asked. "That certainly ties them together."

"But why?" Rossi shrugged. "From what you all told me, Rodney Harris is nothing more than a gang banger. Tamara Barnes is well educated and lives a classier lifestyle. So, where does this all start to come together?"

Gordinski entered his office before any further theorizing could occur. "I just got a call from detective Dennison," he looked to Hotch while speaking. "He was called out on what he thought was a domestic violence issue. Turns out a woman was murdered in her home earlier this morning, throat slit. Darlene Darrow was a thirty-five year old nurse, recently divorced. Neighbor lady called in to report some shouting around seven this morning."

Emily took a deep breath. "Was there any sort of message on a door?"

"Bathroom door down the hall from the murder," Gordinski confirmed. He glanced at his cell phone where the picture Dennison had sent was still displayed. "In sickness and in health…"

"Dave, take Reid and Rawson with you to the site. Gordinski will drive you," he looked to the detective for confirmation of that fact and was glad when the balding man nodded. The four men promptly left the room. "JJ, call Garcia back from another phone. Find me more information on Harris and Tamara Barnes," he dismissed the woman and waited until she was gone before he closed the office door and turned his eyes on the two agents that remained.

"I just did you both a huge favor by clearing everyone else out of here," Hotch's voice switched from composed to stern as he addressed them. "Now I need the truth from you. Patricia Grant, Darlene Darrow… those deaths are on me…"

"Hotch…" Morgan tried to ease his boss's conscious.

But the team leader shook his head. "I closed the case with Cavitch's arrest," he continued. "I believed that was the end of it. I even sent Prentiss on vacation at Strauss' insistence thinking she was overstepping. I take responsibility for all of that. But any further deaths will be on your conscious," he looked to Derek then turned his eyes on Emily. "The lies, the car stealing, hitting fellow agents… all of it stops now," he warned.

He took a breath and his eyes rested only on Morgan for a moment. "I know we've been here before. I know we all have secrets we'd like to keep, but this…" Hotch recalled the text message he'd read earlier. "It should've been me on that beach with him… that's about you, isn't it?" he questioned, eyes swinging back to Emily. "And you. The fact that both of you happened to be here in Chicago at the same time. I doubt any of this is a coincidence."

"I can explain," Emily offered.

"Good, because otherwise I can get Garcia to start digging into your lives the past few months," Hotch let them both know. "She'll find what you're hiding. I'd rather hear it from you."

Emily slumped into a plastic chair beside Gordinski's desk. "Derek and Tamara were involved for a short time and when it ended she didn't take the news very well," she began to explain the situation, hoping to ease some of the pressure off Derek's shoulders. "She started to harass Morgan, excessive phone calls and threatening suicide if he didn't take her back," she was careful to leave out some of the nastier abusive details Derek had shared with her.

She could see that Hotch knew there were holes, but he let them slide for the moment. "I lied about the recent text message. Derek was at my place both nights I received those first messages. And when you told me to take some time off I headed here. Derek and I went camping up north," Emily revealed. "It's probably been Tamara sending the messages."

"Why are you covering for her?" Hotch's question was aimed solely at Derek, even though Emily had just admitted to lying. "Do you know that Tamara Barnes was involved in these murders?" he further pressed. "Help me understand what's going on here."

Derek leaned heavily against the wall. "Things between Tamara and I were pretty much wrong from the start," he regurgitated some of what Emily had just said.

"A few months after I ended things she came to my place and said she was in love with someone else, some guy who truly loved her. Or so he claimed," Morgan took a shallow breath and went on. "I didn't really care until she…" he couldn't find the right words so he skipped ahead. "Things got to where I hired a lawyer. A few days before we headed out on that case in Alaska she was served with some legal papers that she wasn't happy about."

"Restraining order?" Hotch asked.

Emily was hearing it all for the first time as well. She tried not to ask questions, tried to remain supportive.

Morgan's head shook. "We both know restraining orders can easily be broken. And if I'd gotten one everyone at the bureau would've known my business."

"Then what was it about?" the team leader pushed. "If that message Prentiss received is some kind of threat then our time table is shrinking fast."

"Tamara came to me in February and told me that…" Derek finally faced Emily, wanting her to be the one he confided in. "She told me she was pregnant with my baby," he finally revealed his heaviest secret burden. "I told her I'd support the baby, but that it didn't change anything. I still didn't love her. Then a month later she told me about this other guy she was in love with. Suddenly she was claiming it was his baby."

"You needed to know the truth," Emily whispered.

He nodded. "I asked for a paternity test and she freaked out. That's why I hired the lawyer and got the court order for the test."

"Sounds like a heck of a stressor for the first murder which took place a few days later," Hotch noted.

"I know it seems bad," Derek sighed. "I don't want to believe she'd be involved in anything like that, but…"

"But what?" Emily asked.

"She managed to avoid the test for months," Morgan answered. "And shortly after the last murder in DC, Tamara disappeared. I've spent the last six weeks looking for her. I finally tracked her down in Memphis where she has an elderly aunt in a nursing home. I got my lawyer and the police to enforce the DNA testing."

Knowing he once again needed her to be the strong one, Emily asked to hear the whole truth. "And?"

"The baby is mine," he revealed.

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, _Criminal Minds_.

**I am very sorry for the lag between parts! I caught a nasty cold last week that left my head foggy for many days, still not sure if this part is completely coherent? :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Constant<strong>

Part 9

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

* * *

><p>"Where is Tamara Barnes right now?" Hotch asked.<p>

Derek kept his eyes on Emily as the answer came. "She's still here in Chicago staying at the Regency. The baby is due any day now and she didn't want to travel."

A brief nod of acknowledgment came from Hotch as he moved toward the door. "I'm going to have an officer pick her up," he decided. "We need to find out if she is connected to Rodney Harris and these murders," Hotch concluded. He exited the room without another word, letting the door click shut behind him.

The compact office fell quiet, except for the suddenly loud tick-tick-tick of a clock on the wall behind Gordinski's desk.

"One time I wish you would say something, you give me the silent treatment," Morgan sighed as his gaze stayed focused on the woman seated near him.

"Maybe I should yell?" Emily got to her feet, torn between wanting to retreat and telling him everything would be okay. "I'm kind of regretting now that I promised never to do that."

He chuckled, though it was far from a merry sound that emitted. "At some point, rattling around in old houses stopped being enough for me. For the first time in my life I realize I want something more, more than just the job and letting off steam on my off hours, more than finding someone for a one night stand. Maybe a wife, kids…" Derek's head shook with uncertainty. "I thought Tamara and I might be able to make that work. I'm pretty sure the baby was conceived that last time together, shortly after Haley's funeral."

That was a lot more than Emily really wanted to know, but she understood his need to finally tell her everything. "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the reason why you suddenly needed twenty-four condoms the first night we made love, would it?" She sighed. "I didn't know what was going on back then, I was still thinking terminal illness, even figured it might have been HIV."

Morgan pushed away from his spot against the wall. He took the two steps that brought him to her. His hands reached for her waist, not caring that Hotch or someone else could walk in on them at any moment. "I wanted to protect you from this mess I've made," his words were a regretful whisper. "But now…" Derek's right hand moved upward along her back, shoulder, neck. Then he pushed hair behind her ear. "I wish it was you carrying my baby. Our baby," he lamented.

Emily did her best not to yield against his touch, or his words. "That's very cave man of you," she retorted, pushing away from him. "I haven't exactly been honest with you either, Derek." The clock ticked again as they both held their breath. "There's a little story you should hear."

His curiosity was stirred. "What story?"

"Once upon a time," she started, a remorseful smile planted on her lips. "There was a young girl in love with a boy," Emily continued. "Actually, she knew her parents didn't like the boy which pretty much equated to her loving him. They both believed that being together would anger their parents, and yet the two youngsters wanted to be responsible. They sought out what was, perhaps, the only condom in the city of Rome. They used it. It failed."

She dropped the fairytale pretense. "My friend, Matthew, the man you met on a slab in the morgue a little over a year ago, helped me procure an abortion. The place was clean, friendly nurses and a nice doctor. But that couldn't change the fact that two days later I nearly bled to death. And two months after that I had to have a hysterectomy from the damage that nice doctor had done. My parents obviously figured out what had happened. They believed it was my punishment for the sin of premarital sex."

Her bottom lip was sucked between her teeth. "Those little girl dreams of mine when I was twelve, the dreams about having a husband and kids, they died when I was fifteen and a half. They died by my own hand. So, the one thing I can never give you is a child."

He went to her again, both his hands taking hers. "I'm sorry you went through all that," Derek let her know. "And I'm sorry if what I said earlier made you think that's all I'd ever want from you. Because it's not, Emily," he insisted. "You've already given me so much of yourself. More than I probably deserve," his fingers caressed hers. "This baby is always going to connect me to Tamara. I can't do anything about that, so I understand if you want…"

"Really?" Emily didn't let him finished. "After the last few months you honestly think I want to walk away from this? From you?"

His forehead rested against hers, relief flooding his heart. Derek softly kissed her. "How did this happen?" Morgan asked. "She lost her brother and sister-in-law in a horrible, senseless crime. And her parents died the year before, within a few months of one another. We talked about it, all of it. She seemed to be okay. How did I miss this flaw?"

"She was hurting, lost," Emily offered up an explanation. "It's easy enough to mask those feelings. You and I have been tiptoeing around ours for long enough." A small grin was flashed his way, but her serious tone resumed. "She was looking to you to save her, to create a new sense of family for her; security."

"And all I did was push her away," he realized. "How did I not see it? This is what I do. This is my job. Obsessive crimes are supposedly my specialty. How come I couldn't see it when it was right in front of my face?"

Emily pressed her palms against his chest, willing him to feel her love. "Don't do this to yourself, Derek. Don't put any of this on your shoulders. You were too close to see it clearly. But I understand now. You were protecting your child." She also had a feeling the scattered thoughts about his dad had been due to impending fatherhood. "Maybe you don't love her, but you already love your child. And you're right, they're a package deal."

"Remember that favor I was going to ask?" he kissed her palms, one at a time, hoping she might understand even a fraction of how much he loved her. "It has to do with being a character witness on my behalf to gain custody of the baby when it's born," he revealed. "Probably not full custody, unless she really did have something to do with these murders."

"All you had to do was ask," Emily let him know. "You could've told me all this from the start."

He nodded, knowing they probably didn't have much time left before Hotch came for them. Derek understood their boss was giving them a lot of leeway at the moment. "I have a confession to make," Morgan sighed.

With arched brows, Emily almost smiled. "Another one?"

He did smile at that, marveling at the way she could always make a situation seem less serious. "I was with her in an attempt to rid my mind of someone else. You."

"That makes me feel so much better," she dryly replied, doing her best to digest those words. "Maybe you should've just asked me on a date," Emily concluded.

Morgan leaned in and kissed her on the lips, a tender union of forgiveness and new beginnings. The office door swung open without a knock and the two of them jumped apart. Hotch eyed them both. "Gordinski had a unit a block from the hotel, they checked her room. Tamara Barnes isn't at the hotel," he revealed. "The room was tossed. I called Dave and the others. Rawson is headed to the hotel to have a look around."

"You think someone took her?" Derek asked.

"I think we need to find Rodney Harris," Emily was the one to reply.

"We also need to brief the team about what's going on," Hotch let them know. "_All_ of it."

The other two agents nodded.

xxx

"Where is Rodney hanging out these days?" Morgan questioned Hornet, trying to keep calm even though Tamara was missing. More importantly, his baby was missing.

The brute shrugged. "Same places as always."

Derek's fist slammed against the small table. The metal legs jumped against the hard floor with a clang. "We've already looked at all those places; youth center, ball field, high school parking lot, his mama's place, even the warehouse," Morgan rattled off the locations that they'd searched multiple times. "Give me something solid, Hornet. You've got a rap sheet a mile long. You roll on Rodney and I'll do my best to let the breaking and entering charge slide."

"Can I get that in writing?" the man asked, finally interested in talking.

"Rodney first," Derek played along.

Hornet stewed for a moment longer, but his head shook in defeat. "He's gonna kill me, you know that. But I can't have another charge on my record or I'll go away for years. My old lady don't make enough to support the kids without me," he sighed. "Rodney has been gone for a few days, said he wouldn't be back until next week at the earliest."

"Back from where?" Morgan pressed.

"He's in Wisconsin. Milwaukee. Told me there's some woman up there who he needed to…"

"A name, Hornet. I need a name."

"Jessie Tatenum. She sells houses or something like that," the man revealed. "That's all I know. I swear."

Morgan headed for the door and met Hotch, Emily and Gordinski in the hallway. "You heard?" he asked, knowing they'd been listening from the other room. Hotch nodded as JJ approached their group. "We need Garcia to run a check on a woman named Jessie Tatenum," Derek addressed the media liaison. "I can almost guarantee you she's our realtor connection to the murders in DC."

"Sammy Tate, Jessie Tatenum," Emily nodded her agreement, recalling the business card and the number she'd tried to call. "She's got to be our double letter friend."

"Rodney probably took Tamara north with him," Morgan said.

"We should leave now," Hotch announced. "Garcia can hit us with an address once we're on the road. JJ, tell Dave and Reid we'll pick them up in about ten minutes, and get that call into Garcia," he instructed. When JJ headed off, he looked to Emily and Derek. "The two of you can grab Rawson at the hotel then head north."

Emily waited until Hotch was out of hearing range before she turned a smile on Derek. "Seems his sense of humor is coming back," she mused.

Forty-five minutes later, Morgan knew stuffing Rawson in an SUV with them for a two hour drive had little to do with humor, and everything to do with patching things up. But Derek wasn't ready to eat crow just yet. He reached across the front of the vehicle and took Emily's hand in his. "What do you think about Sid?"

Her brows bunched in thought. "Sid?" she questioned his odd train of thought, which she couldn't follow.

"For a boy," Derek added.

A light bulb finally went off. Emily had never heard Derek refer to his father by name, but she did recall Fran mention it. It was hard to think that only about sixteen hours had passed since that meal. She'd felt so relaxed chatting with his mother, thinking that maybe there was a chance for her and Derek to have some semblance of happily ever after. But so much had changed in just those few hours between dusk and dawn. "Do you know if it's a boy?"

His head pivoted just slightly. "No, I don't," Morgan kept his voice low, not wanting Rawson to hear too much.

"Do you have a preference?" Emily inquired.

"Just healthy and safe," he replied.

She could hear the undertone of worry in his words. It made her stomach clench and her heart ache. His worry was her worry. But her fears were far greater, wondering what place she'd have in the life of Derek's baby. Wondering if maybe he'd be better off with Tamara and the child. She quickly swiped that thought from her head. "We'll find her," Emily squeezed his hand, which had become a universal sign of love for them. Perhaps even more powerful than the closeness of a kiss.

"I hope so," Morgan sighed, letting her hand drop and placing it back on the wheel.

A cell phone rang.

Emily grabbed her phone and hit the speaker button. She was keenly aware of Rawson's presence again as he sat forward and leaned against the back of her seat in order to hear the call a little better. "Go ahead, Garcia," Emily implored.

"I've got Hotch's SUV on the other line," the tech reported before getting down to details. "Jessica Tatenum was born in Milwaukee thirty-seven years ago, African American mother, father not listed on birth certificate. She was adopted by a couple who moved to DC when Jessie was still a baby."

"So there is a DC connection," Derek noted.

"Indeed," Penelope continued. "Jessica grew up in DC with her adoptive parents. Her first job straight out of school was as a realtor for Liberty Homes. She's been with them for the last fifteen years. But four weeks ago she suddenly quit her job and uprooted to Milwaukee. She doesn't seem to have a job in the area yet, but she left two forwarding contacts. I'm sending them both along with a recent picture of Jessie taken for her business card."

Hotch's voice came over the line. "Morgan, you three take the first address. We'll take the second."

"Got it," Derek replied before Emily ended the call.

xxx

Morgan led the charge from their SUV to the house. "The two of you should go around back," he instructed Prentiss and Rawson. He still didn't much care for the man, or the fact that Emily had wanted him on the case with them. But Derek did his best to be civil. "I'll knock, see if anyone is home." He waited on the porch as Emily darted around the left side of the house and Rawson went right. Morgan knocked and waited.

"Tina Collins?" Derek shouted as he knocked again. He had no idea how Jessie knew the owner of the house, but he feared it was another set up so he made the decision to enter without further warning. Derek kicked the door open and swung his weapon to one side and then the other as he moved through the space. It was a single story home, spacious but not elaborate. He quickly cleared the living room, dining room and kitchen before proceeding to the back bedrooms.

"Shit," Morgan's swear was a soft sigh as he found a woman in bed, blood pooled around her severed neck. He searched for a pulse, but found none.

Rawson stood behind him in the open doorway. "Guess she's not going to lead us to Rodney," Mick remarked. "And that's certainly not Tatenum," he observed, having seen the picture Garcia had sent. "She doesn't look like the other victims, not like Emily," he noticed Tina's ebony skin.

"Where is Emily?" Derek asked as he opened a closet door in search of a bathroom.

"I thought she was with you," Mick glanced about worriedly. "The back door was already open when I came around from the other side."

Derek stormed out of the bedroom, glaring at the man. "You left her alone?" he growled, batting at the nearest door to the bedroom. Morgan spotted shiny white tiles on the floor and knew he'd found a bathroom. He shoved Rawson into the room and slammed the door. Blood red letters stared back at them. "I will love you and honor you…" Derek read. A second later he stormed out of the room and sprinted to the back of the house.

"Emily!" Morgan called out.

A detached garage stood behind the house, a man door hanging open.

"Emily!" Mick joined Derek in the search. He watched as Morgan pushed the man door open even wider. "She can't have gone far, mate. We didn't hear anything or…" Rawson trailed off as they both spotted something on the concrete slab, gleaming against the late afternoon sun.

Bending over, Derek scooped up Emily's gun.

The larger roll-up door on the exterior of the garage was wide open, and tire tracks were pressed into the gravel alley. Morgan aimed her gun at Rawson's chest. "You knew she was in danger. How the hell could you just leave her alone?" Derek asked.

Hotch and the others found them in almost the same position twenty minutes later. They stood toe-to-toe again after searching the area for evidence of Emily's disappearance.

JJ shook her head and sighed upon spotting them. "Why don't the two of you just whip them out right now and we can settle the issue of who is bigger," she snapped. All eyes stared at the slim woman, jaws slack with surprise. On the drive up, Hotch had briefed the others about everything involving Derek and Tamara, which had led them to conclusions of Emily being tied up in Derek's personal life. "We're wasting time that Emily doesn't have. Now stop behaving like idiots."

"She's right, mate," Mick tried again to appease Morgan. "If you would take a moment to think straight, you'd know I had nothing to do with this," he remained steady. "You know as well as I do you can't make Emily do anything she doesn't want to, stubborn woman. Neither one of us could've convinced her to stay put."

Derek relented and looked to Hotch with regret filled eyes. "There's another victim in the house. That makes two more murders since the message Emily received last night," he took a quick breath. "I will love you and honor you," Morgan repeated the most recent message. "All that's left is… until death do us part."

"Or, all the days of my life," JJ countered.

"Either way," Derek's jaw was set in stone. "Emily's the last victim."

xxx

Her head hurt. It felt as if someone was pounding on the inside of it with a hammer.

Emily opened one eye and then the other, slowly allowing light to enter into the foggy darkness of her mind. But she blinked several times and quickly realized there wasn't much light to let in. Taking in her surroundings, Emily concluded that their killer had some very strange issues with bathrooms. She was seated on a kitchen chair that had been placed in a bathtub. The curtain was open, revealing a small vanity and sink, toilet and a window above.

The window was opaque glass on the bottom, but clear on top. A dark blue sky was visible beyond. It was sprinkled with a few stars. She knew it was foolish, but seeing them helped settle her pounding head. Emily focused her thoughts, trying to remember how she'd been taken. There was a garage at the back of the house that she'd explored; nothing inside but a few garden tools, lawn mower and a ladder. She'd walked around the space, her weapon drawn. Then she'd heard a soft crunch, like tires on gravel.

Her memories ended there. "And picked up again in this bathroom," she mumbled to herself.

One thing that buoyed her spirits was that she could clearly see the back of the door and there was no message written there. Emily took that as a good sign, a sign that she still had time to save her life. She tried to move, but upon further inspection found that each hand was bound by duct tape to the chair. Each ankle was likewise affixed to the chair legs. She could scoot a little back and forth in the tube, and maybe topple herself over the edge and onto the floor.

"But what good would that do me?" Emily wondered aloud.

Sick of sitting around and facing inevitable death, she yelled, "Hey! Is anyone there?" she called out. "Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?"

There was a creak of footsteps and Emily wasn't sure what to expect. The door swung inward and a woman stood there before her. Tamara Barnes with her straight dark hair touching just beneath her shoulders. And a hand resting against the bulge of her stomach. In that second Emily felt irrational jealousy creep into her heart. She couldn't blame Derek so much for what he'd done, punching Rawson in the jaw. Part of her wanted to do the same thing to Tamara.

She was jealous over the fact that she'd never carry Derek's child the way this woman was, which was silly, because the idea of carrying any baby had never entered her thoughts before. Emily's mind switched to thoughts of the baby itself. She imagined a perfectly bronze-hued infant, dark hair and dark eyes. Derek's determined chin and long fingers. Tamara's perfectly sloped nose. Emily willed herself to stop thinking about those things, but it was difficult faced with the reality standing in front of her.

The door opened wider and a man pushed Tamara into the bathroom, gun aimed at her back.

All of Emily's jealousy retreated in an instant as she feared for Derek's child. "What is this about?" she asked, looking to them for an answer.

The man was tall, thin but muscular, dark skin and eyes. But she knew he wasn't Rodney Harris. He ignored Emily and spoke to Tamara while shoving something at her. "Write it," he instructed. "You know what the final message is."

Emily squinted in the faint light of the room. She was able to see that the item the man had handed Tamara was a syringe filled with some sort of dark liquid. "I don't have gloves," Tamara said, her voice low and frightened. That was something Emily hadn't been expecting from one of the main players involved in a string of bloody murders.

"You don't need to wear gloves," the man replied, undeterred, calm. "Police don't have your fingerprints on file. Just do it," he insisted, jabbing the gun into her overly round belly.

"Okay," Tamara nodded. She closed the door and pressed down on the syringe, letting the liquid flow.

A glint of light from outside caused Emily to realize it was blood Tamara was extracting, just like the other messages on all the other victim's doors. But as she watched the woman's hesitant movements, nothing made sense. Tamara acted more like a hostage than a willing participant. She used a shaky hand to smear the blood into words against the white painted door. Emily read them silently as they formed; _until death do us part_.

With the message finished, Tamara dropped the syringe and faced Emily. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Wanting to hate her, Emily tried to block out the words. She tried to remember the three threatening text messages, the dead bodies she'd seen at crime scenes… all the other bloody messages. But the look in Tamara's eyes was not that of a killer, rather of a woman with genuine regret in her heart. "Why?" Emily asked, even though she knew there was never a decent answer to that question.

"Because I love him," Tamara placed both hands atop her belly. "Because all I wanted was for him to love me."

"Enough," the man shoved Tamara out of the bathroom. He stuck his weapon down the back of his waistband and then reached for Emily's chair, hauling it along with her out of the tub, all the way down the hall and into a small living area. Only an old plaid sofa and a wood coffee table resided in the space.

Emily was mindful to keep herself alert even as the mystery man held his gun to her temple. "Harris hired someone new?" she tried to engage him in conversation. "Cavitch stabbed and shot his victims. You cut their throats."

"This will be faster," he replied.

She had a few more words on her tongue, but they died when she watched the man's face contort with confusion and pain. Emily spotted Tamara standing behind him. The gun slipped from his hand, his body fell limp and sunk to the hardwood floor, face down. Emily's eyes focused on the knife in his back and then on Tamara, whose right hand was bloody. "What are you doing?" Emily demanded.

Tamara picked up the gun and sagged against the wall, just a few feet from where the man lay dead. She contemplated the gun in her hands and then turned her gaze upon Emily. "I wanted you to die," Tamara whispered dismally. "I thought that would make Derek love me. But I know now that nothing will."

"Think about your baby," Emily spoke. "You love it, and it's going to love you."

"It'll be just as messed up as I am," Tamara's head shook.

Emily could hear defeat in the woman's voice and knew she needed to keep her talking. "No, this isn't genetic. What happened to you… the stress, the loss, it all just rolled into this feeling you couldn't control. But there are people who can help you find your way back

"Cavitch and this guy," she waved a hand at the dead man. "They forced me to write those bloody messages on the doors. Rodney sent you those texts after I found your number on Derek's phone. It was Rodney's plan, he set everything in motion. But I'm the one responsible. I sought him out. I intentionally went to Chicago that first time looking for something to make Derek mine. I thought if I got to his family or his friends that I could force my way into his life. But his mother and sisters wouldn't talk to me."

Emily was secretly thankful to Fran for that. It somehow made her feel superior to Tamara, having Derek's mom on her side. But she knew it could just have easily been her on the outside had circumstances been different. And loving Derek made her realize what a fine line there was between love and insanity; loving someone so much you'd do just about anything for them. But there was a difference between wanting them to love you, and loving them enough to support them through anything.

"Rodney was the only one who really talked to me," Tamara continued. "He said he could help me. So I used him. I made Derek think I was in love with someone else, made him think maybe the baby wasn't his. All of it was supposed to help me get him back. But you ruined that plan. He loves you, not me. Rodney helped me set this in motion, a warning to you. But you don't give up very easily, do you?"

"Drives my parents crazy," Emily quipped, trying to loosen the duct taped hold against her wrists and ankles.

"I started it. And I didn't do anything to stop it," Tamara noted. "But if I killed you, or had you killed, Derek would never stop looking for me. He'd destroy me and take this baby. I'd go to jail and I wouldn't be allowed to raise my child."

Still desperate to stop the woman, Emily kept talking. "Most prisons let mother's keep their babies close for at least a little while."

"And then what?" Tamara asked. "I _am_ responsible for the deaths of eight women. I'll never get out of jail. It will be a life sentence… till death do us part. Better to end it now."

"You don't know that. You cooperated with Rodney, but like you said, you didn't pull the trigger or even send those text messages. I just watched you forced to write that message on the door at gunpoint. You killed this guy that Rodney hired. I can testify on your behalf," Emily offered. "A jury will take all of…"

"Stop it," Tamara pressed the gun against the right side of her head, finger pressed again the trigger. "None of that matters to me. Derek mattered. Only him. But he will never love me, which means this baby is the only family I have left. This is the only way I can make him hurt the way I suffered over losing him. He can have you, but he can't have this baby. This is the end of the line for both of us."

A gunshot echoed through the room.

"No!" Emily shouted mournfully, her forehead creased and teeth clenched. "Oh, please… no…" she sighed, thinking only about the unborn child. Derek's child.

Her head stopped throbbing, or she was too focused to notice. Emily managed to stand, hunched over with the chair still attached to her. Then, without another thought, she slammed herself against the wall. The wood chair dug into her skin and she knew it would leave bruises. But she repeated the act several times, slamming both sides of the chair and the back against the wall; again and again until one arm of the chair finally broke and her left hand was set free.

With her free hand, Emily picked at the tape on her other wrist and then at her ankles. Completely unrestricted by the chair, she rushed to Tamara's side. She pressed two fingers against the woman's neck, but she'd already seen the damage done and knew the result of it even before she felt no pulse. "Damn it," she whispered. "You've already hurt Derek enough. I will not let you take his baby too."

Emily searched the house for a phone, and both dead bodies for a cell. Finding none, she ran to the door of the building. The sky was inky black. She couldn't see anything but a pattern of bright stars. And she could hear the gentle lap of water against the shore. Emily knew there had to be a vehicle somewhere, but it was too dark to search blindly and she was running out of time. Seconds had already ticked into a minute or more and she had no idea how long a baby could survive without oxygen from its mother.

In the kitchen she found the only thing that might help. She grasped the small paring knife in one hand as she knelt before Tamara again. Her left hand pushed the dead woman's shirt upward. She felt the firmness of the infant tucked beneath layers of skin. Emily closed her eyes. "Please God," she prayed for the first time in nearly twenty years. "Please let this be the right thing to do," her eyes reopened and she focused her thoughts on Derek.

"And if it's not, please forgive me."

She placed the knife against the lower section of Tamara's abdomen and pressed down, drawing blood.

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, _Criminal Minds_.

**_I think I responded to everyone's comments this time. If not, THANK YOU! I tried to get this part done as quickly as possibly for you all!_**

* * *

><p><strong>Constant<strong>

Part 10

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

* * *

><p>"It's not easy being the one left behind," Mick said as he joined Derek.<p>

The two men stood in Tina Collins' back yard again; though it was several hours later and it had turned dark. Morgan no longer harbored any desire to fight Rawson, but he would've rather been left alone at the moment. He knew it was rude not to respond, but Derek had no idea what to say. Instead he looked upward, able to make out a few tiny sparks of starlight beyond the city's haze of artificial lights. His thoughts settled even heavier on Emily. He wished for the simplicity of their camping trip, holding her while they gazed at stars.

"We can't protect them. As much as we like to think we can," Rawson persisted.

Derek's head turned just a little to regard the man. "Look, I know I owe you an apology," he finally gave in. "Probably several…"

"Don't worry about it," Mick casually shrugged off the offer. "It was never part of the plan, was it?"

Morgan's brow furrowed. "What? Apologizing?"

"No, falling in love with your partner," the accented man continued. "It was never part of the plan to fall in love with one of your best friends. But you put your lives in each other's hands day after day, and then suddenly you realize you trust them implicitly. And then you realize how much love is really just a matter of mutual trust. No man or woman would give their heart fully to someone they didn't trust," Mick reasoned. "You and I are a lot more alike than you'd care to think, agent Morgan."

"Could be," Derek nodded, recalling how Jenny Clark and Mick Rawson had worked together before falling in love.

Regret seized Morgan like a pair of hands at his throat. He felt awful for thinking Emily would run to Rawson for anything more than help on the case. Derek wished, not for the first time in his life, that trust came easier for him. Rawson was right, though, he trusted Emily with his life and with his heart. He turned and extended his hand. "I'm sorry for the way I've behaved toward you lately, Mick," he used the man's first name, remembering how he'd intentionally botched the very same name months ago out of jealousy.

Mick took the offering and they shook. "Apology accepted."

Light from the house behind them streamed across the lawn and they both turned to find the back door hanging open. JJ stood on the porch, right hand on her hip as she regarded them with a critical eye. She looked ready to smack them both upside the head if necessary. "Garcia is online with Hotch right now. You'll both want to hear this," she waved them in.

They hustled into the house and followed JJ to the kitchen where Hotch, Rossi and Reid were huddled around a laptop. Penelope Garcia's shock of blonde hair was adorned by lime green and pink barrettes, whimsical as usual. But the woman's face was a mask of serious concentration as she relayed the important information she'd uncovered. "Tina Collins is the daughter of Patrick and Faith Mitchell. Faith Mitchell is the sister of Debra Harris, who is…"

"Rodney's mother," Derek finished. "I didn't even recognize Tina," he lamented. "Haven't seen her for years. The Mitchell's used to live in our neighborhood until Mr. Mitchell got a job offer in Milwaukee," he remembered. "I was about thirteen when they moved away."

"Yes, Patrick Mitchell took a manufacturing job back then," Garcia confirmed. "They stayed in the city until Faith Mitchell died five years ago, at which time Patrick Mitchell moved down to Miami. Their two children remained in the Milwaukee area. Tyler Mitchell owns a small brake repair service station, married with two kids. Tina and her husband, Mark Collins, divorced two years ago. They share custody of their twelve year old son, David, and the divorce seemed to be amicable."

"No divorce is ever entirely amicable," Rossi noted.

"We need to talk to more members of the Mitchell and Collins families," Derek suggested. "Maybe they can lead us to Jessie or Rodney. Both, preferably," he hoped.

"Agreed," Hotch concluded.

Twenty minutes later, JJ and Derek had broken the news to Mark Collins about the death of his ex-wife. The man had taken the news badly. Seated now on the sofa, he rested his head against one propped arm. "I never stopped loving her," Mark lamented. "We just couldn't make it work, you know? Sometimes as hard as you try…" his head shook. "Supposedly love is all you need, but that's a lie. There has to be trust, and a willingness to grow and change. I was too set in my ways, and Tina was such a free spirit."

Morgan nodded sympathetically, giving the man a brief moment to mourn his recent loss. But they also needed some answers, sooner rather than later. "Did Tina ever mention a woman named Jessie Tatenum to you?" he inquired.

"Yes," Mark sat up a little straighter. "The last time I picked up our son, just a few days ago, she mentioned that name to me. Tina claimed Jessie was her sister."

That answer caused Derek some confusion. "I thought Tina only had a brother, Tyler."

"Me too," the man responded. "I really don't know anything about this Jessie person, except that Tina told me she was going to meet her for the first time today." Mark's eyes grew large. "You don't think this woman claiming to be her sister had something to do with Tina's murder, do you?"

"We're not sure, sir," JJ replied, placing a hand against his shoulder. "Is there anything you need? Would you like us to stay while you tell your son what's happened?"

The man shook his head. "No, David is at a friend's place. I should go pick him up now," he stood on wobbly legs.

"At least let us have an officer drive you," Morgan insisted.

With a nod, Mark agreed. JJ led him out the front door and instructed an officer to help the man. Derek joined her on the front lawn a few minutes later. "So, if Jessie is Tina's sister that would make her Rodney's cousin," Morgan tried to line up all the random details in his head. "Maybe Rodney was using Jessie? He could've been blackmailing her, dangling the prospect of information about her birth family in exchange for her help with these murders."

"Maybe," JJ replied doubtfully.

"Why the hesitation?" he was curious.

"I don't know much about this Rodney guy, other than what we read in his police files, but he seems loyal. At least loyal to his group of thugs. Maybe that translates to family loyalty," JJ ventured. She was about to say more when her cell phone rang. "Hotch?" JJ answered. "No… okay, we'll be right there." With the very short call ended, JJ turned to Morgan. "Hotch and Rawson just found Rodney Harris prowling around outside Patrick and Faith Mitchell's old house across town. They're taking him to the local precinct."

Derek needed no further prodding.

They arrived twenty minutes later at the police station and Morgan charged straight toward Hotch. "Where's Rodney?"

Hotch nodded toward the interrogation room door behind them. "No one has questioned him yet. I figured you'd want that pleasure."

Morgan knew it was a privilege his superior was allowing. He wanted to find Tamara, Emily and his unborn child more than anything. But he also hoped to do it while keeping his career intact. And he had some making up to do in that department. Morgan entered the small room as calmly as possible. But Rodney's smug face made him want to punch it. "Well, if it isn't Mr. FBI," Harris reclined against his metal chair. "How'd I get so lucky?" the man taunted.

"Where is Jessica Tatenum?" Morgan asked, not about to get caught up in his old adversary's childish games.

Rodney's expression turned to genuine surprise. "How the hell do you know about Jessie?"

"I'm the one asking the questions here, Rodney," Derek growled. "And right now the lives of two women and a baby are on the line. I figured since your cousin Tina just died you'd be a little more willing to talk. Especially since Jessica Tatenum might've had something to do with Tina's death."

"You're talking crazy now, brother," Harris replied. "My cousin Tina ain't dead, man. She's…"

"We found her several hours ago at her house," Derek cut in. "Her throat had been slit. A colleague of mine and I just finished informing her ex-husband about her death." Morgan watched as Rodney's whole body sagged and his face paled. It was not the reaction he'd been expecting at all. "Do you know where Jessica Tatenum is?"

Harris shook his head. "No, I was supposed to meet her yesterday at my aunt and uncle's old place, but she never showed."

"Then you know who she is?" Morgan questioned.

"I think she's my cousin," Rodney replied. "My auntie Faith had an affair several years ago, in between having my other cousins. Family liked to keep it quiet, but we all heard things growing up," he revealed.

"What sort of things?" Derek persisted.

The man sighed. "Auntie Faith gave the baby up and claimed that it had died at birth."

"You don't believe that?" Morgan asked.

"I heard her and my mama talking once. They said something about making sure the adoption was closed; no contact with the baby," he explained. "Well… that baby, Jessie, she recently decided to get ahold of my family here in Milwaukee. Tina wanted me to talk to her, check her out. Jessie and I first talked a few months back. She started telling me about some guy who'd approached her in DC months ago. He'd claimed to be me; claimed he could help her find out about her birth family in return for some favors."

Derek wasn't sure what to make of Rodney's story. "Favors?"

"Not sure," Harris shrugged. "But I think it was pretty bad shit. Jessie said she was scared for her life and was moving up to Milwaukee. I wasn't sure what to think about this woman, but I agreed to meet her. Like I said before, she didn't show yesterday. I got another call a few hours ago to meet her again. That's why I was there when your FBI friends showed up a little while ago." he concluded.

"That's it?" Morgan asked. "End of your story? What about Tamara Barnes?"

"Don't know anyone by that name," Rodney replied without blinking. "You don't believe me?" he asked a second later. "My cousin is dead because of all this, man. Family means something to me. Everything. Have your FBI people look into the adoption. I'm telling you the truth, Derek. I don't like you, and I know you don't like me. But this has nothing to do with any of that old shit between us. You know I'm right."

Morgan quickly exited the room and approached Hotch in the hall. "We've got a big problem."

"What?" Hotch asked.

"I think he's telling the truth," Derek replied with great difficulty. He took a breath, trying not to think about Emily as the hours ticked by. He could only hope she was still alive somewhere. "He said some other guy approached Jessie in DC claiming to be Rodney Harris. I wanted to believe it was Rodney all this time, but it never made sense to me. Yes, we have a messy past and we hate each other's guts. But I think JJ was right, this doesn't fit Rodney Harris."

"How so?" the team leader pressed.

Morgan sighed. "He's a small time drug dealer and gang banger, but he was visibly upset about Tina's murder. The name Tamara Barnes didn't set off any alarm bells for him. And leaving the safety of his Chicago territory is a huge risk for a guy like Harris. I'm not convinced he had anything to do with these murders."

"You're right. That is a very big problem," Hotch replied, trusting Morgan's instincts. "If we believe his story, where do we go from here?"

"Get Garcia on it," Derek suggested.

A half hour later, the BAU's technical analyst smiled at Morgan through their computer connection. "How you holding up?" Garcia inquired while still sifting through mounds of red tape and data. Penelope was multitasking, one of her specialties. While she was busy breaking into the Chicago adoption database, she was also scanning hundreds of hours of airport surveillance footage from both Dulles and O'Hare.

"I'll be better when I see Emily again," he admitted.

Penelope's grin brightened. "Never thought to share that secret with me? Or the fact you're going to be a daddy?"

He allowed a small smile to grace his features. "I never wanted either one to be a secret. I'm sorry I didn't confide in you."

She nodded in understanding, but her computer beeped, which thrust her back into work mode. "It looks like the adoption story pans out. The birth certificate I found earlier had the mother's name blacked out, but digging a little deeper it appears that birth mother for Jessie Tatenum was, indeed, Faith Mitchell. Father never listed, but no biggy there," she dismissed as another alarm beeped in her lair. "And I've got a match!"

"Match for what?" Morgan asked as yet another alarm beeped.

"Two hits…" she was interrupted by a third beep and then a fourth. "Correction, make that four," Penelope amended. "I set my computer to match up the faces on airport surveillance tapes at the exact time Rodney Harris checked in for his flights," Garcia explained, typing quickly so she could send the information to her friend. "I have four confirmed hits on the same face," she explained while feeding the video links to him.

Derek watched the black and white images, four videos with different date and time stamps. But the same man in each video.

"That's not the Rodney Harris you know, is it?" Penelope asked.

"No, but there's something almost familiar about him," Morgan remarked as he stared at the frozen screen of the man's face. "Who the hell is he?"

"I'll start running facial recognition," she offered.

He nodded, still deep in thought. "Thanks, baby girl."

xxx

"Maybe I should've listened to my parents and gone to medical school," Emily whispered to herself through gritted teeth.

Thankfully her kitchen knife was sharp enough to break the skin, but Emily had no idea how deeply to cut. She didn't want to injure the unborn child. At the same time she could hear a ticking clock in her head, time running out. With a deep breath she cut deeper, no gloves to shield her from the blood. Emily wasn't squeamish about such things, but she felt sick to her stomach knowing the baby was about to be born into a house of horrors with two dead bodies and a bloody message on a door down the hall.

She pushed those thoughts from her mind, focusing again on saving the baby. Emily carefully ran her index finger along Tamara's stomach where she'd been cutting. It still felt like there was some sort of skin or membrane layer holding everything together. "Come on, Em," she gave herself a mini pep-talk. "It's all or nothing time here."

As she made another pass with the knife, Emily's thoughts slipped backward in time to the child who she'd decided not to carry at the tender age of fifteen. She still couldn't wrap her head around any answers to the difficult questions of faith; when a life actually became a life, when a soul entered a child, either at conception, birth or some point in between. Emily only knew that she'd done what she believed to be right for herself as a teenager.

"This isn't about the past anymore," Emily chastised herself. Looking back was worthless when faced with saving the precious life of another child.

Emily finally felt herself break through the last layer, causing the knife to jerk inward a little. She quickly pulled it out and buried all her fears once and for all as she slid her hand into the crevasse of Tamara's belly. Not knowing exactly what she was feeling, Emily did her best to determine the next move. She carefully grasped what she prayed was the baby's neck and gently pulled a mass of flesh free from the womb.

"Holy shit," she swore softly, heart thumping as the baby's head emerged along with a very messy tangle of arms, legs and umbilical cord.

Having guessed right about the baby's neck, Emily tucked her other hand beneath the baby's bottom and drew the child to her chest. She hadn't thought ahead to a blanket, towel or anything for warmth. Nor had she planned on how to cut the baby's cord. But all of that seemed irrelevant as she realized the baby hadn't made even the tiniest peep. Emily quickly used her pinky finger to clear the baby's mouth and nostrils the best she could, running on pure instinct.

Still there was no sound. No movement.

"Please don't do this, little one. Not after all we've already been through," Emily willed, but she knew it was going to take more than just the power of wishful thinking. Without hesitation she placed her lips against the baby's mouth and blew as softly as she could. Then she used the tips of her index and middle fingers to massage the baby's tiny chest.

The FBI had trained her in CPR, which she'd used numerous times in her career. But never had she tried to breathe life into such a small body. Emily repeated the process three times and feared the worse when the baby remained quiet. "Please, little one. Fight with me, okay?" she urged, continuing to massage the baby's chest.

Her eyes caught the glint of something through the window to her right. The large picture window revealed the same dark sky she'd briefly peered into minutes ago. Those same stars twinkled down on them. But one shone much brighter than the others. Emily actually smiled, though she wasn't sure why. The strangest feeling flooded her body at that moment, causing a shiver to tingle along her spine. Then she heard the most beautiful sound imaginable.

A sharp cry filled the room.

Emily looked down at the baby in her arms.

"You have no idea how good it is to hear you cry, little one. I think I might even join you," Emily sniffed. She stared at the scene before her, the bloody and wrinkled newborn, crying and still attached to a dead mother. It was a nightmare that Emily hoped the baby would never have to know about. "Your daddy should be here to cut the cord, and I have no idea what to use…" a sigh escaped.

She became torn between needing to find something to clamp the cord and not wanting to leave the baby for a single second. "Life has been rough these first few seconds," Emily spoke softly to the child. "No doubt it's going to be tough further down the line, especially with Derek as a single dad." She chuckled at the thought. "But I need you to be strong for just a few more seconds, okay?"

Carefully settling the baby onto the carpeted floor beside Tamara, Emily jumped to her feet and searched the darkened house for something useful. She returned moments later with a paperclip and a bath towel. Emily knew it was already too late to worry about things being sterile. She quickly pinched the paperclip around the cord about half an inch from the baby's belly then she used the paring knife to cut the cord.

The baby cried a little softer, seeming more curious than anything.

"This all must be confusing to you," Emily kept talking. She wasn't sure who needed more soothing, the baby or herself. "But trust me, being born in a hospital isn't much better. Being born is hard, and you won't know what life is really all about for many more years. Hell, I'm still not even sure about that one," she smiled, doing her best to swaddle the newborn in the dark blue towel. "At least you should stay warm in this."

A bright spray of light filled the room and Emily got to her feet. She looked out the window and spotted a set of headlights drawing near. They were accompanied by the sound of a vehicle approaching. Emily felt her stomach settle a little. "I think your daddy found us," she sighed with relief.

But her stomach knotted again the second the front door opened on creaky hinges.

Emily knew something wasn't right. There'd been no sirens, no cautious knock on the door. There was no sound of officers surrounding the house, no voice to identify themselves as FBI, local police or SWAT members. There was only the sound of that door opening and closing. Emily inched silently toward the revolver that had fallen from Tamara's hand after she'd shot herself. Even the baby seemed aware of what was going on; remaining still and quiet in Emily's arms.

"I don't think you want to do that," a man's voice called out.

Another light shone in her eyes, this time from a flashlight that Emily could see in the man's left hand. She could also see that he was over six feet tall, ebony skin and heavy set. And he held a gun in his right hand. "Who are you?" Emily inquired.

"Rodney Harris."

"No, you're not," she instantly responded, standing her ground. She'd just been through too much to back down from a fight now. "I've never had the pleasure of meeting Rodney Harris in person, but I've seen a few pictures. And I'm almost one hundred percent sure you're not him. Unless you had some plastic surgery recently."

"Aren't you the smart one," he replied, confirming her doubts. His emotionless dark eyes stared down at the dead figure of Tamara. "I managed to fool her all these months," the man sneered. "She came looking for someone to help her win Derek Morgan back. Naïve and gullible Tamara," he pronounced. "She was just a stepping stone for me, crossing my path at the perfect time. I have always been very good at making the most of an opportunity. Now you're the latest opportunity. So let's go, bring the child," he waved his gun at her.

Emily did her best to store everything he'd said for future reference. At the moment she had a bigger issue to deal with; her fear for the child's life. Again. "This baby was just cut from its mother by an unsterile kitchen knife." Emily gazed at the small life in her arms; squinted eyes and perfect little lips pursed. "It really needs medical treatment, a hospital."

The man took a step toward them and pressed his gun against Emily's side. "Women have been having babies for centuries and not always in hospitals. The child is breathing, isn't it?"

"But the poor thing really needs to be cleaned," Emily countered. "I used a paperclip to clamp the umbilical cord. It could get infected from that. Not to mention the fact that a baby needs diapers, food… a special seat for whatever car ride you probably have in mind."

"Maybe we can get those things later," he said, again shoving the gun into her side. This time he also pushed her toward the door. "Right now we need to leave before the sun rises and someone sees us here. I was going to use Tamara to complete my plan, because she wanted you dead. But I always knew you'd work much better for my plan. You have no choice in the matter. And, by my way of thinking, you are more important to my plan than the child. If you want it to live you'll do as I say. That choice _is_ yours."

That choice was a no-brainer. Emily had already fought to save the baby's life. She'd continue to do so. "Okay, we'll both go with you, but I want to know one thing. Who are you?"

"You're not in any position to be making demands," he shoved her through the door and guided her down the porch steps. "Didn't I just make it clear to you I'm in charge?"

"Very clear," Emily treaded lightly as he manhandled her into a dark van. "I'd just like to know how I should address you."

The back of the van had one bench seat and no windows. He cuffed Emily's right wrist to the seat's armrest. "When I first agreed to help Tamara, I did some research. I know exactly who you are, Emily Prentiss," he positioned himself in the front seat, but turned to stare at her. "You're a profiler. You know how to get into people's heads, try to figure them out. Isn't that right? Isn't that what you're trying to do to me right now?"

"Yes," she nodded while making sure the baby was secure on her lap. "But I can tell you're not like anyone I've ever dealt with before. You're confident this'll all work out to your advantage, and you're probably right," she let him think he was in charge. "So what's the harm in telling me your name?"

He turned around and started the van. "All you need to know is that I'm the man who's going to make Derek Morgan suffer for what he did to me."

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued…<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, _Criminal Minds_.

* * *

><p><strong>Constant<strong>

Part 11

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry I can't give you a name, little one."<p>

Emily held the baby as best she could within the confines of her surroundings, one hand being cuffed to the vehicle's musty smelling backseat. The baby's mouth hung open for a moment before a low whine escaped. "You're okay," Emily patiently shushed the child, knowing there was nothing more she could do at the moment but talk to the newborn. "I think it should be your daddy's honor to name you since he hasn't gotten to do much else for you yet. Of course he seems to have his mind stuck on Sid."

The baby's eyes remained closed as it made soft smacking motions with its lips. "Not that Sid or Sidney is a bad name for a boy or a girl, but I just don't think it suites you."

She had no idea if the baby understood a word she was saying. "You're probably wondering why your mother's voice went away," Emily continued. The rambling helped calm her, if not the baby. "And no doubt you're wondering who this strange new voice is that's been talking to you about names and other random crap."

Emily glanced up to stare at her mysterious driver-caper through the rearview mirror. She studied him, finding something vaguely familiar about his appearance. But she feared her identity theory seemed a bit farfetched. And the inside of the van was so dark, which made it hard to see much. She wondered if the shadows were making her see things that weren't really true. The only window she could see through was the windshield, which only revealed a few red taillights. Emily had no idea where they were headed.

Her eyes settled on the baby again. "Most kids get a name first thing when they're born. Some even get them long before they're born these days," she tried to explain. But the baby was still mildly fussy and Emily used her free hand to gently caress the newborn's cheek. The baby calmed down almost instantly. "You really are being good."

Small pink baby lips formed an O shape while it wiggled one little hand out of the towel. "You're probably getting hungry?" Emily hadn't spent much time around babies, but it seemed a pretty basic need. Food, shelter and clothing. She'd been running on pure adrenaline for over twenty-four hours now, no food or rest, and it was starting to take a toll. But she did her best to stay alert for the baby's sake. "I know this is hard to understand, but I'll get you something to eat as soon as I can," she sighed.

Feeling the vehicle slow a little, Emily sat up straighter and tried again to take in her surroundings. There were street lights and buildings now. Clearly they'd left the main road. The baby squirmed, causing Emily to refocus on the newborn. She stroked one cheek again; regretful that the baby's skin was still messy from the birthing process. "You know what you are?" Emily whispered, hoping the man wouldn't overhear their private conversation.

"This might sound silly to you, but I thought you weren't going to make it back there at the house were you were born. Then I looked up and I saw this one bright star in the sky. You took your first breath after that," Emily recalled. It hadn't been that long ago, though it felt like decades had already passed. "You're a tiny spark of light in all this darkness. A little star," she insisted. "I'm so sorry for what's happening. I want to make it right for you. I will get you out of this one way or another. I promise, little star."

Slowing even further and then coming to a complete stop, the van jerked a little as the driver set the parking break. Emily held the baby closer and watched as the man maneuvered himself into the back of the vehicle. "What do you need for the baby?" he asked.

Emily studied his dark eyes, not seeing much concern in them. "Do you have kids?" she questioned in return.

His jaw tightened. "No," the word dropped from his lips like a stone.

"But you have some sort of family, don't you? Parents. A mother and… a father?" Emily asked, hoping her suspicions were not completely unfounded. "A father who Derek took away from you?" she continued to gently probe the man, see if he'd give anything away. "That's what he did to you, isn't it? Is that why you want to make him suffer? You take his child away from him the way he took your father away from you?"

"I'll get the things myself," he turned and made a move to exit, sufficiently avoiding her accusatory questions.

"No, wait," Emily knew she'd pushed too hard. "Let me go inside with you," she suggested, hoping not to sound too egger. "You probably won't know what size diapers to get, or…"

"And you're some kid expert?" he scoffed. "Remember, I told you I did research on you. You don't have kids either."

"It's a maternal thing all women have," she promptly replied. Emily knew that was a lie. She had no idea if all women would instinctively protect a child if given the task. All she knew was that the baby in her arms needed her. The newborn had sparked a protective urge in Emily like none she had ever known before. "You can keep your gun trained on me at all times. I won't say anything to give you away," Emily promised. "Just let me go inside to collect the right things."

He was quiet for several seconds, but finally un-cuffed her and led her from the van at the point of his weapon.

xxx

"I've got something," JJ ended a cell phone call and made her announcement to the team who was still gathered at the Milwaukee police department.

"What?" Derek nearly pounced on her. It had been over an hour since Garcia had started running her facial recognition program and still she had nothing to report.

JJ quickly scribbled down a few notes about the call she'd taken. "There's a convenience store on North Green Bay Road, almost right on the border between Wisconsin and Illinois. A clerk there reported a man and women with a baby who were acting suspicious. She thinks she saw a gun, and also said that shortly after they left she saw the news report about Emily and Tamara being missing. The clerk positively identified Emily as being the woman at her store."

"Dave," Hotch addressed the older agent as they all gathered their things. "I'd like you to stay here with Harris. The rest of us will head south," he concluded.

An hour later the sun was already perched high in the sky, bright and warm enough for it to feel like noon rather than only eight o'clock in the morning. Morgan, Hotch, JJ and Rawson crowded around the counter in the small convenience shop while Reid remained outside canvasing the area. A young woman in her twenties stood behind the counter. She was dressed in a green polo shirt with a yellow name tag that read: Sandy. "We get plenty of odd folks in here, but there was just something off about these two."

"How so?" Derek inquired.

"The woman was real pretty," she recounted. "She had shiny black hair and fancy clothes. Well, they were casual clothes but I could tell they were higher end even for being jeans and a t-shirt. You know, like some rich business lady on vacation," she shrugged. "But the guy had on dirty blue slacks and a white t-shirt with sweat stains," she shivered a little. "He had a few days of scruffy growth and kinda smelled. Wait a second," Sandy paused and turned to fiddle with a monitor on the counter behind her. "This is them," she pointed to the screen.

A grainy image greeted them, but it was clear enough to identify Emily and the same man Garcia had found in the airport videos. "What else can you tell us about them?" Hotch asked.

"I think he had a gun on her, behind his back. Besides that, there were stains on her hands. I thought it looked a lot like dried blood, but could've been dirt. She had some bruises too, mostly on her wrists. And she was holding the baby real close, protectively. Kind of like she was scared. My step-dad used to beat the shit out of my mom for about ten years before she finally got smart and ditched him. The look in this lady's eyes was kind of worried and scared like my mom all those years. Mom would always take a beating for us kids."

"I can't see the baby from that video," Morgan pointed out, though he could see something bundled in Emily's arms. He was surprised that they had a baby with them, which meant Tamara had given birth already. But he didn't see Tamara anywhere. "Did you see the baby? Did Emily mention if it was a boy or a girl? Did she say anything to you directly?"

"Nah, I didn't see the baby at all. But it definitely made a noise," the woman nodded. "It was the cute kind of baby cooing sound, not like my six month old nephew when he's bawling for his bottle. Anyhow, the baby was wrapped in that blanket so I couldn't see it. But, if you ask me, looked more like an old bath towel than a baby blanket. The guy with them did most of the talking. I asked how old the baby was and if it was a boy or girl. He said the baby was a few weeks old and a boy."

"Which probably means it's a girl," Mick concluded. "This bloke has been lying about everything so far, including his true identity."

Derek was inclined to agree with Rawson. His heart raced to think he was a father; to realize he very likely had a baby girl with Emily out there, somewhere. He just prayed they were somewhere close; somewhere he'd be able to find them real soon. Alive. "What did they buy?"

"Just the baby stuff, some powdered formula, diapers, and a bottle. We only carry the one type of bottle, which is kind of big for a baby a few weeks old. But, uh… oh, and some wipes, I think that's about all," Sandy rattled off the purchased items.

"And Emily, the woman, she didn't say anything?" Derek asked again.

"No… I mean, yes she did," Sandy replied. "That was the weirdest thing. And it's why I remembered them so well. She didn't talk about the baby or the guy with her. But she said something about how beautiful it was out. It was still dark then and she mentioned how clear it was, and that the stars were real bright. Then she said that the little dipper constellation was nearly a perfect reflection of the big dipper constellation."

Morgan latched on to those words. "Are you sure she said it just like that? She said they were both constellations?"

Sandy nodded. "Yep, I'm sure."

"Why is that significant?" JJ questioned Derek's reaction.

He smiled a little. "Because the big and little dippers aren't constellations," Derek explained. "Emily knows that, and she knows I know that. We talked about it once."

"You think she's trying to tell us something?" Hotch guessed.

A slow nod came from Derek as he tried to figure out what. "Something that isn't what it appears to be…" he mumbled. "That's got to mean she knows the guy with her isn't Rodney Harris," he spoke louder. "As for being a reflection of one another…"

"Maybe he's related to someone she knows?" JJ offered.

"Or someone I know, we both know. Maybe even the whole team knows. A past case," Morgan let the thoughts tumble. "Tamara being behind all of this, I always figured that was more about me than Emily. Someone else is doing this to hurt me, too." He closed his eyes for a second and saw the image of their UnSub in his head again. "The little dipper is a reflection of the big… like a parent and child," his eyes popped open. "A father and son," Derek's stomach tightened. "That's who he looks like," he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Garcia.

Hotch and the others didn't question him, waiting rather patiently for him to fill them in. Reid entered the store, the door chiming as he did so. "A man who lives down the block said he saw a dark van leaving the area at about the time…" he trailed off when JJ shushed him and pointed to Morgan.

Derek punched the speaker button on his cell when Penelope answered. "Garcia, I need you to find out if Carl Buford ever had any children. Specifically, a son."

"Um, okay…" she was momentarily surprised by the request but set straight to work. Her answer came only a mere minute later. "Oh, my… that's it. That's our mysterious frequent flier's identity. His name is Daniel Jessop."

Morgan sourly digested the confirmation as she continued.

"Susanna Jessop left her husband Carl Buford after seven years of marriage. Daniel was just five years old then," Penelope relayed to the team.

"He never mentioned having a son," Derek spoke, his tone awash in the torturous past.

"I'm guessing Carl Buford didn't see his son very often," Garcia offered. "According to my findings, Daniel and his mother moved to Oklahoma shortly after the divorce. Susanna had family down there. I haven't found any evidence that Carl ever sent child support or alimony to them. And no correspondence as far as my sleuthing can determine, at least not until just after Buford was arrested. That's when a certain name started to pop up a lot on Carl Buford's prison visitor list."

"Daniel," Morgan easily surmised.

"Danny Jessop, as written in his own hand," Penelope confirmed. "Actually, Daniel has been living in Chicago for the last ten years. He works as a security guard at a downtown office high-rise. It's likely he and his father were in touch again even before Buford went to jail."

"Anything else useful?" Hotch questioned the woman.

"Well… his mother died three years ago," Garcia relayed. "Daniel was awarded a lot of money in life insurance, but the money never turned up in any bank account. Which is exactly what I discovered about Tamara after her brother and sister-in-law were killed. She was their sole beneficiary, but the money was never deposited into any of her accounts."

"Because she and Jessop used the cash to pay their hired killers," Rawson concluded.

"So that's it, then?" Derek looked to Hotch and the others. "This is about Daniel thinking I helped send his old man away." His head was swimming with the ramifications of all that when he remembered the place Buford used to take him. "I think I might know where he has Emily, Tamara and the baby. Garcia, I need you to find a cabin for me. I don't recall the address, but it's somewhere not far from where we are now. On the lake. And it used to be owned by Buford about twenty or more years ago."

She searched for just a few seconds before the answer came. "You win a gold star," Garcia grinned. "Buford's cabin on Lake Michigan was transferred in ownership to Daniel Jessop two years ago. I'm sending you the address now."

Just twenty minutes later the sun was glinting off the water as their FBI issue SUV pulled to a stop outside Buford's cabin. A silver Ford Escape was parked in the gravel driveway. "JJ, get Garcia to run that plate," Hotch ordered the woman as he and the others headed for the house.

Guns drawn, they stormed the cabin. The scene that greeted them inside made the three men hold their breath for a moment.

"What the hell…" Derek wasn't disturbed by the man who lay face down against the carpet, a knife protruding from his back. But he couldn't help feel sick to his stomach over the woman whose head and abdomen were both a bloody mess. His feelings for Tamara had never been more than friendship as far as he was concerned, but that didn't mean he'd ever wished her dead. He crouched beside her, careful not to disturb the area as he listened to Hotch, Rawson and Reid clear each room.

"There are pieces from a broken chair over here," Rawson noted. "Looks like shreds of duct tape stuck to some of the dowels. Probably how they were holding Emily."

"I found the final message in the bathroom," Hotch added, returning to the living area. "Until death do us part," he repeated the expected words, "Looks like a syringe was used to extract the blood. And left behind this time, which means there should be prints."

"The last message was written, but Emily escaped death?" Reid questioned.

JJ entered the cabin. "Garcia says the car is registered to a Theo Nelson." She stared at Tamara for a moment, not sure if she was meant to feel bad for the woman. "My guess is that's him," she said as her eyes landed on the prone man. "He's only been out of jail for six months after doing several years on drug charges and the attempted murder of his girlfriend at the time, Natalie Foster. Her neck was cut. Lucky for her he missed her major jugular veins."

"She was his first," Hotch concluded. "He liked the power he'd felt, dreamed of it for years in lockup and was all too happy to bite when Daniel Buford hired him for this job."

"If Nelson and Tamara are dead, does that mean Emily killed them?" Reid kept asking questions that didn't seem to add up.

Rawson gingerly examined Tamara's right hand, which was just inches away from the gun. "Emily might have stabbed that bloke in the back," Mick agreed. "But given the position of Tamara's body, the gun location and the wound trajectory... I'd say it's more than likely that she took her own life," he concluded. "Emily probably cut that baby out in the hopes of saving its life," Rawson looked to Morgan as he spoke those last few words.

"Which she did," Derek replied, getting to his feet. "At least if what Sandy heard was really a baby's cry." He was still too much in shock to know what to believe.

"Should we start calling hospitals," JJ asked, looking to the team for a response. "They'd want to get the baby medical treatment, right?"

"Emily probably would," Rawson agreed. "But I'm guessing this Daniel bloke has something else in mind. He took them to a convenience store for supplies because it was a lot safer than a hospital where doctors might ask too many questions."

Derek wasn't convinced Danny Jessop cared about the baby's survival at all. "This all started with threats to Emily. He wants to hurt me by hurting her. And maybe the baby as well. We need to find out his last known address," he concluded.

After another quick call to Garcia they headed further south, back to Chicago.

Jessop's apartment was a small basement unit in a house twenty minutes south of downtown. It was a mess of dirty dishes and stinky laundry. He had files strewn around; mostly information on Morgan and Prentiss that he'd probably hired a private detective to uncover. And in the only bedroom of the unit they found a woman lying in bed, her blue blouse soaked in dried blood from what appeared to be a single gunshot wound to the chest. Her cocoa-hued skin was ashen and her dead eyes stared at the ceiling.

"Jessica Tatenum," JJ sighed, having hoped to at least find her alive. Each death pushed the possibility of finding Emily alive further from reality.

Morgan's phone rang and he hit the speaker button when he saw that it was Garcia. "What's up, darling?" his voice teetered on the edge of hopefulness.

"I found a divorce decree on file for Daniel Jessop and a woman named Sheila Luce," Penelope relayed. "They were married for only a year. And I thought it was pretty interesting that their divorce became final six months after Carl Buford was convicted."

"This was never really about Tamara wanting to play out her marriage fantasy with Derek," Reid was the one to voice his theory. "It was just a convenient way to get back at Derek and Emily, but it was all Daniel's plan from the start. He's the divorced one. This has to be about him."

Derek nodded. "Where did Sheila and Daniel live before they were divorced?" he asked the technical wizard.

"A two-bedroom bungalow in Avalon Park, which Sheila Luce still owns."

xxx

"Don't try anything stupid," Daniel warned.

After walking her through the house and pointing out all the locks and barricades he'd created inside the structure, Daniel left Emily alone in the kitchen with the baby. She could hear him pacing in the other room, as if he were still pondering what to do with her. Emily tuned him out the best she could, having enough to deal with. Trying to wash a wriggly newborn was a challenge all its own. And her mind was also half focused on the layout of the house and the possibility of escape.

Emily let those thoughts retreat to the back of her head as she tenderly rubbed a damp washcloth over the baby's soft skin. With better lighting Emily could finally see the baby's true personality start to emerge. "You've got your daddy's coloring," Emily noticed. "In fact, you look so much like him it's kind of creepy, except for your southern anatomy. And that's a very good thing considering you're a girl."

The baby opened her eyes halfway. "I'm sure that friendly stork probably told you there'd be a mommy and a daddy here to greet you when you were born. And there'd be a nice sterile hospital, certainly not a paperclip attached to your belly button," Emily said while carefully cleaning around that area on the baby's tummy. "And I'm sure you never bargained on having a novice like me take care of you from the start," she smiled.

"Granted, I know some random book-smart things, like that white stuff I washed off you being vernix. That means you were probably born a little too soon," Emily noted. "I also know you have to carefully support a baby's head. But, amazingly, I've never changed a diaper before."

A whimper escaped the newborn and Emily was afraid she might be cold, in addition to being hungry. "Okay, you're as clean as you're going to get for now," Emily declared, grabbing a diaper. It took her a few tries before she was mostly confident that the diaper would stay on. Then she wrapped the little girl back up in a new towel that she'd found in the hall bathroom. There'd been no baby blankets to buy at the Quick-Pick.

With diaper on and baby somewhat swaddled, Emily knew it was time to tackle the biggest hurdle. She carefully read the formula instructions as the baby's whimper turned louder and much less complacent. Pleased that it was only a matter of scooping, adding water and shaking, Emily had a bottle ready in a short amount of time. The instructions also listed the possibility of warming the bottle, but Emily had a feeling the baby wasn't going to care much one way or the other.

She poked her head into the living room where her kidnapper was still pacing. Emily moved past him, taking the baby and bottle down the hall until she came to the smaller of the two bedrooms she'd seen earlier. It contained only a desk and a futon, most likely a guest room. She settled down on the futon sofa and placed the bottle's nipple against the baby's lower lip. The curious little mouth didn't waste any time figuring out what to do with the item as she began to suck.

"Slow down there," Emily warned. "You'll get a tummy ache," she added, glancing about the room. The house was clearly lived in, but it didn't seem to fit her abductor's personality.

Her attention back on the newborn, Emily realized a tummy ache was a very real possibility. She carefully pried the bottle out of the baby's mouth at about the halfway point. "The formula canister said I'm supposed to burp you, but I'm new at this too," she confessed, shifting the newborn to her left shoulder. "So," she gently patted the girl's back. "If you want to just help me out here…"

An audible burp escaped the baby's mouth.

"That was impressive," Emily admired, cradling the baby again and replacing the bottle. She couldn't help be impressed that the newborn seemed to know what to do better than she did. "You just wanted more," Emily guessed. She watched the girl's eyes close for a second and then pop open again. "It's okay, you can sleep," Emily encouraged. "I know it's been a hectic first few hours of life. I promise I'll still be here when you wake up."

But the baby suddenly seemed resistant to close her eyes again. She stared up at Emily with giant brown eyes and the most perfectly curled lashes. "Oh, no," Emily's head shook. "Don't you dare give me that look," she warned. "I know what you babies do. Henry used to give me that look, too. That - you can try to resist me, but I'll have you wrapped around my finger in no time - look." Emily chuckled softly as the baby's eyes seemed to remain mesmerized by the woman holding her.

The bottle was empty in no time and Emily burped the girl again. Then she watched as the baby's little eyelids grew droopy and closed for good. Emily held her close against her chest for a long time after, making sure the baby was still breathing. She was pretty sure she'd drifted off to sleep as well, because the next thing she remembered was waking with a jolt and finding the man standing before her in the room. "It's time," he said, waving the gun at her.

Never before had two innocent words caused Emily such fear. "Time to feed the baby again?" she asked, hoping to play dumb.

"You can bring her," he said. "But let's go."

Knowing there was nothing to distract him, Emily obeyed. She walked down the hall in front of him until they entered the larger bedroom. He then ushered her toward a door in the room that led to a small en-suite. The bathroom was compact with a pedestal sink, toilet and tub/shower combo. "Sit," he instructed while pointing to the edge of the tub.

Emily had a feeling all those messages in the victim's bathrooms were about to become clear as she settled herself on the cool white porcelain.

"That's where she sat…"

"Who?" Emily asked.

"My wife," he replied stiffly, leaning against the sink with the gun still clasped tightly in hand. "One morning I was standing here shaving, and suddenly she sat down there and told me she wanted a divorce. She was frightened of me. That's what she said. She told me she was glad we didn't have children because I would have hurt them. But she only thought those horrible things because Derek Morgan convinced that stupid James Barfield boy that my father had hurt him. They were lies."

"No, they weren't lies," Emily defended, having confirmation of the man's identity. "Your father did hurt James, Derek, and Damien," she recalled, "But you're right to be upset. Your wife had no evidence to think you'd treat her or any child the same way. I'm sorry she felt those things, but I can't change that. And Derek is not to blame for any of this. You're the one who decided to take revenge by becoming exactly what your wife feared. You _are_ responsible for the deaths of eight women, nine if you include Tamara."

"Ten if you include Jessica Tatenum," Derek said from the open doorway.

Emily looked up and felt nearly ten times more secure knowing Derek and the team where there to support her. But she also knew her captor would try to finish what he'd started.

"You have a weapon?" Daniel asked, aiming his gun on Morgan.

Derek carefully lifted his shirt and turned around to reveal that he did not.

"And your ankle?" Jessop questioned. "You carry an extra there. It was in the reports I got about you."

Morgan raised his pant cuffs, one at a time, to show he was completely weapon free. "I don't want to hurt you, Daniel. You've obviously already been hurt enough by what your wife did to you. And I know Carl Buford was no kind of father to you. You shouldn't even care what your wife said about him."

"But he was my father," Daniel's voice quaked. "Blood matters."

"No," Derek persisted. "Love matters. Carl left you. And trust me… you were better off without him."

Jessop shook his head, not really listening. "It's your fault," he spat the words at Morgan. "You sent him away. I have to make you pay for that, but you get to choose first. Who would you rather see die, the baby or the woman you love?" Daniel posed the options. "One or the other, but not both."

"Please, take her," Emily made the decision for him. "Take the baby. You have to get her out of here, Derek." She stood and looked Daniel in the eye. "I'll stay with you. You can finish this with me," she offered. "Just let me hand him the baby before you do anything." Jessop nodded and she stepped across the room, his gun pressed against her side again, one of his bulky arms about her waist. "You have a daughter," she whispered to Derek, handing the baby over. Her left hand briefly squeezed his right. "Take care of your little star."

Morgan's lips formed a thin line. "Emily, I can't leave y…"

"Go," she didn't let him finish, watching with a smile as he held his baby girl for the first time. "Get her out of here," Emily insisted.

Derek's teeth gnashed as he obliged her wish and halfheartedly backed out of the bathroom. He hustled through the bedroom and out into the hallway. "I have the baby," he spoke through his comm to the team. "We're clear of the back bedroom where Jessop is holding Emily."

"Good," it was Hotch's voice over the comm. "JJ is at the very front of the house, hand the baby off to her before you…"

He wasn't able to say any more when they all heard the sound of a gunshot.

* * *

><p><strong>To Be Continued…<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, _Criminal Minds_.

**Thank you for being patient. Hope it was worth the wait...**

* * *

><p><strong>Constant<strong>

Part 12

By  
>N. J. Borba<p>

* * *

><p>With Morgan and the baby out of harm's way, Emily had no intention of giving up so easy.<p>

His arm was still around her waist and the stink of him filled her nostrils. She'd been able to see and smell the filth on him from the second he'd taken her; dirty uniform pants and sweaty t-shirt, musty old van. Emily knew he was deteriorating both mentally and physically. He was teetering between life and death. And she was pretty sure that things were going to end with Daniel's death, hers or both of them. She planned to fight rather than become a victim statistic for Reid to recite.

Emily used her forced closeness and slammed all her weight against the man. It was not a lot of weight, but she did have the element of surprise on her side. They collided with the tile wall behind the toilet. His shock caused the arm around her to slacken. Emily bolted for the door. But the boom of gunfire stopped her. A spark of fire instantly scorched along her right arm. There was no doubt in her mind that his bullet had hit her, but Emily clenched her teeth and reached for the doorknob.

Daniel's hand clasped around hers before she could turn the knob. His weapon was pressed against the small of her back, his chin against her shoulder. "I was good to you," he rasped in her ear. "I let them go because you said you'd stay. But you're just like Sheila. She left me, too."

"I'm sorry," Emily forced the words from her lips, not a bit sorry for the man's troubles. He was a grown adult. He knew right from wrong. Things didn't always go the way people hoped they would, but one had to adapt. Of course, she'd learned to adapt at a very young age. Not everyone was wired that way. "I know you don't want this, Daniel," she used the name Derek had spoken, hoping to appeal to the man. "You showed remorse earlier, allowing Derek to take the baby."

He wrapped his meaty paw around her right arm, squeezing it just above the elbow. "I'm responsible for ten deaths, as you've said. There is no redemption for me."

"It's not too late to be a better person than your father," she tried again. "Let me go and I'll try to help you." Emily felt like she was reliving the conversation she'd had with Tamara.

"I was ready to be merciful, but now I'm going to make him watch," Daniel vowed as he guided her through the door and muscled her into the bedroom.

Emily knew he was lost.

She felt pain shoot through her arm each time he squeezed; felt the warm stickiness of blood as it trickled down to her hand, coating her fingers. Emily was fighting fatigue, hunger and now a gunshot wound and blood loss. But she had no plans to pass out. She pressed all of her energy reserves into keeping herself alert and on her feet. They moved swiftly down the hall and into the living room. Then he shoved her outside onto the front porch.

The sky was clear and blue. It actually took Emily a moment to adjust her eyes to the sunlight. She'd been trapped in a dark cabin, then a dark van, followed by the inside of a house most of the morning. Emily felt the sun's warmth against her cheeks and even heard birds in the birth tree to her left. It would've been a picturesque day if not for the gun pressed against her back or the fact that the little house's small front yard and sidewalk were crawling with police officers and vehicles.

Morgan stood on the bottom porch step, facing her, worry creased across his forehead. Emily could see JJ retreating toward an ambulance with the baby in her arms. A sigh of relief rushed from her body as Derek moved up the steps and stood directly in front of them. Hotch and the rest of the team, even Gordinski and Dennison surrounded the porch. "You're not leaving here," Emily confidently told her captor. "Even if you take me down with you, you'll never escape," she promised.

His grip tightened and he held her close against his chest. The gun aimed at her head now. "Tell Derek Morgan goodbye," Daniel prompted her.

"No," she replied, eyes glued to Derek. Emily was a little miffed at him for not having a weapon. But it had been a smart move on his part. He'd known Jessop would check. And he hadn't wanted to risk her or the baby getting hurt. She smiled softly to think about the girl. "You should be with her," Emily tried to nod her head toward the baby, but Daniel's hold was rock solid. "She needs her daddy."

Derek nodded. "Yes, she does," he agreed. "But I'll never be able to look her in the eye if I don't try to save your life the way you saved hers."

"It's okay," Emily assured him.

"Tell him that you love him," Daniel tried again to make her his puppet.

But Emily had no plans to relive his messed up relationship with his ex-wife. "I don't have to," she countered.

"Do it!" Daniel shouted. "Tell him how much you love him, till death do you part. Tell him!"

She could feel his nails digging into her arm, could practically feel the bruises forming as he yelled in her ear. "No," Emily calmly responded.

"Tell him!" the man shouted again. "Tell him before it's too late!"

Her eyes locked on Derek and she smiled. "I don't have to tell him. He already knows."

Emily felt Daniel's body tense even more, his hold tighten, the gun's cool metal dig into her temple. Then she heard the gunshot.

She felt the calm summer air shift and sizzle all around her, heard the crackle reverberate in her ears. When the echo stopped, she thought perhaps she'd imagined it all. For a moment Emily was stunned, thinking she'd been ready to die. But in that instant she realized no one was truly ready to die. She almost felt weightless as her body detached from his. Emily thought for sure she was going to black out soon. Then she watched as Daniel's body collapsed onto the porch beside her.

A breath finally escaped her lips.

Looking down, Emily spotted the small hole in his forehead. A trickle of blood.

For a moment she couldn't help feel sorry as she stared into his dead eyes. Then a new set of arms snaked around her body. They were strong, but gentle. And she closed her eyes as she inhaled the spicy-sweet smell of his skin. "I'm not dead," Emily whispered against his shoulder, still in shock.

"No, you're not," Derek assured her.

"What happened?" she asked, not caring that their embrace was probably being broadcast on national TV.

Morgan turned his head and scanned the sea of police, reporters and medical personnel roaming about. He spotted the man across the street, still perched on a neighboring rooftop with his rifle aimed. Derek smiled and pointed so Emily could see Mick. "That's twice he's saved your life," Morgan noted. "I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"Grateful," she aimed a smile toward Rawson. But her thoughts shifted quickly. "The baby," Emily wasn't interested in Mick any longer, or the fact that Daniel was dead. Or even that her arm ached like crazy. "She's okay?"

"Why don't we see," Derek offered, slowly allowing himself to switch his worry from Emily to the newborn daughter he'd barely gotten to hold. "JJ took her to be checked by the medics, and I think both of you could use a trip to the hospital."

Emily didn't bother protesting as Derek led her to the ambulance. He and JJ helped her into the back where a female EMT immediately tended to the wound on her arm. Derek settled beside Emily and they both smiled to see the newborn, still bundled in her bath towel. Her eyes were closed as she laid nestled in another EMT's arms, a young man who assured them that the child was fine and just resting. "Wish I could've slept through all that," Emily replied wistfully.

Morgan took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

At the hospital a nurse took the baby while Derek and Emily followed her through the ER. "EMT's called ahead and we have our pediatric intern coming down to check her out," the middle-aged nurse informed them as they reached an exam room. "I can only allow family in while the child is examined," she added.

"I'm her father," Morgan replied, trying on that title.

"I gave birth to her," Emily stated.

Derek watched with amusement as the nurse glared at Emily's narrow profile with disbelieving eyes. "She did," he attested.

The nurse shrugged and allowed them both into the room as she took the baby's vitals. Derek hovered near the exam table, his protective fatherly instincts kicking in. He didn't look away for several minutes, but when he did Derek noticed that Emily was leaning heavily against the room's door, extremely pale and about to pass out. The nurse called for help and moments later Emily was being wheeled out of the room, though this time she did protest.

Standing in the doorway, Derek was torn as to who needed him more. But Emily made that decision for him as well.

"Stay with the baby," she insisted. "I'll see you soon."

xxx

Keeping her promise, Emily returned. She tried not to make a sound as she pushed the exam room door open.

Morgan instantly caught sight of her. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

"I'm fine," Emily insisted, entering. She stood by the door. "I got some pain killers and a little food in me. Had a shower. JJ even brought me clean clothes," she waved a hand over the dark jeans and purple t-shirt she'd changed into. A white bandage wrapped around her right bicep completed the outfit. "I couldn't rest until I knew she was okay," Emily eyed the newborn in his arms. She thought the baby looked even smaller in her daddy's embrace. "What did the doctor say?"

He wasn't able to answer when the nurse entered with a bottle in one hand and a clip board in the other. "I imagine this little one is ready to eat," she handed the bottle to Derek. "The doctor will be back to talk to you in a few minutes. I have some paperwork for you to fill out; birth certificate, application process for obtaining a social security number for the child and some medical insurance information that we need. I'll leave it for you," the nurse said before she left.

Derek looked a little uncertain about the bottle in his hand. "Just rub it gently against her bottom lip," Emily encouraged him. "She knows what to do." The baby did not disappoint, happily taking the bottle her father offered. Emily was glad to see them finally getting a chance to bond. "So, does she have a name?"

"Yes," Morgan nodded. "Stella."

"Stella?" that choice came as a surprise to Emily. "Do you have some kind of _Streetcar Named Desire_ hang-up I never knew about?" she joked.

His eyes lifted from the baby as he aimed a smile at Emily. "No, genius… I named her in your honor, for your love of stars," Derek declared. He glanced back at the newborn. "I heard you call her my little star back at the house."

"Right," Emily wasn't sure what else to say, enormously touched.

"Stella Francine Morgan, after you and my mama," he announced. "If you don't mind," Derek's eyes rose to meet hers again.

She shrugged. "It's not my place to disagree," Emily replied. "And to be grouped with the likes of your mother…"

"Mama isn't perfect, Emily," he watched her, still standing by the door and fiddling nervously with the necklace he'd given her several days ago. Derek was worried about her behavior, but he knew she'd just been through a lot. He let it slide as a greater worry rested heavily in his chest. "I know I told Jessop that love was more important than blood," Morgan spoke softly, confident once more that he could tell Emily his deepest fears. "I still can't help worry Stella will end up like Tamara."

Emily's heart broke to hear the apprehension in his voice. "What happened to Tamara was a choice she made, bad judgment brought on by the fear of loneliness. You know that, as well as I do. You're just a new dad who's scared about being a dad," she guessed. "But look at her, Derek. She's a baby, an innocent little life who has a blank slate future ahead of her. She only knows that you're her daddy. And you're going to be a great dad," Emily assured him.

Those words of confidence brightened his mood. He flashed another smile her way, their dark eyes meeting. "What about you?"

"I think it's a pretty safe assumption that I'll never be a dad," Emily quipped.

He laughed at that, a real moment of joy for the first time since their meal with his mother the other day. But the jovial moment slipped through their fingers as he looked to Emily again. She still didn't seem quite right to him. "You can tell me anything, remember? Even the truth about what happened in that cabin with Tamara."

Her body tensed. "I already told Hotch and JJ when they found me earlier," her eyes danced around the room. "Tamara was being used by Daniel Buford, or Jessop I guess is what he went by," Emily shrugged. "In the end she wanted to do the right thing and spare my life, so she went after that other guy at the cabin. But… he shot her and…"

Derek's eyes narrowed. "And then he stabbed himself in the back?"

"No, I did that," her voice wavered just a little.

"Really?" Morgan didn't hide the tone of doubt hanging on his words. "I imagine that was kind of hard to do while you were duct taped to a chair."

She swallowed. "It happened after I broke free."

"I saw the beating those walls took from you smashing that chair against them to break free," he wasn't about to let her off so easily. "I'm supposed to believe that guy just stood around and did nothing while you made a commotion to break free?" His head shook. "Haven't there already been enough lies."

Her eyes finally settled on the baby. "Yes," Emily breathed out, "But I can't tell you that Tamara wanted to…"

Morgan listened as her words faded. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen her so reluctant to speak the truth before. "You want to protect Stella, don't you?" he guessed. "You've been doing that from the second she was born. And you don't want her to know that Tamara killed herself, or that she tried to take Stella with her when she fired that gun. You don't want her to know that Tamara did all of that to hurt me, to punish me," he concluded.

Emily sighed. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Emily," he quickly replied.

"But I did what she did," Emily gnawed on her bottom lip. "I did that to my child. I took its life. We're not so different."

"Yes, you are," Morgan insisted. He knew she was probably one of the strongest women he'd ever have the pleasure of knowing in his life, and he hated to see her so consumed by guilt. "Do you remember what you told me the other day about never being able to give me a child?" his tone softened. "You were wrong, Emily, because look," he glanced down at the little girl in his arms. "Here she is. Tamara carried her all those months, but she wasn't brave enough to give birth. You did that. You chose to give Stella life."

Emily nodded, uncertain of her voice.

"We can't change the past, Emily," he spoke for her. "But we can love this little girl right now, and all days in the future." Derek could see she still wasn't quite convinced, but he had a feeling there was something that would help. "Do you want to hold her?"

"No," she sniffed.

"I bet she misses you," he persisted. "Come here," Derek motioned with his head since both hands were still full of baby and bottle. Morgan watched as she remained rooted against the wall. "Perhaps you thought that was a question, but it wasn't. It was a request. Come here," he insisted with more force.

She slowly took a step toward Derek, and then another until she stood beside him and the baby. Emily watched as he managed to prop the bottle against his chin so he could reach for her hand. She let him take it. Let him kiss her palm. Let their fingers weave together. Let him place them both against the baby's warm chest. But she pulled her hand away only a few seconds later. "I don't want to get attached," she revealed.

"Kind of late for that, isn't it?" Derek was puzzled by her reticence toward the child. But he remained patient with her, the way she was always so patient with him.

"But I'll have to go back to DC with the team soon, and the two of you will be here."

Derek's brows bunched. "Why would we stay here without you?"

"Because your mom and your sisters live here," Emily replied, as if that were enough explanation. "They'll help you raise her," she further clarified. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you are Superman most of the time, but I doubt even you're ready to take on a newborn by yourself."

Morgan grinned. "I love my mom and my sisters like crazy, and I'm sure they'd jump at the chance to help me out with this little princess. But they're not the thing that keeps me grounded. My dad was that for me, but when he died I became the man of the house. Maybe that sounds old fashioned to you, but I took that role very seriously and still do. I had to be their pillar, their strength. Which means I couldn't confide in them about some stuff, like Buford. I had to be Mr. Tough Guy."

"Derek, you don't have to…"

He didn't let her say anything more, "I know I can tell you anything, Emily. I used to think that being brave meant that I had to hold everything inside, hide away my true feelings. But you helped me realize that talking about things isn't a mark of weakness. Not talking is a greater weakness."

"I'm glad I could help you realize that," her words were stronger, but still slightly hesitant.

Derek could tell she was not completely swayed. "You're my rock, Emily, my constant, my home. Just like you looked to the stars when you were little, I look to you now. And I want Stella to have that in her life; to have you. I know that asking you to be her mother is a much bigger favor than standing up for me in court. And I'll understand if you say no. What Tamara put you through, and me not telling you the truth about what was going on… you can walk away now if…"

"Hey," it was her turn to stop him. Emily took his hand back, gently squeezing it. "I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night," she replied.

"Is that a yes?"

"That's a quote from a Sarah Williams poem," she answered.

"I know," Derek nodded. "_The Old Astronomer to his Pupil_," he revealed his knowledge of the poem.

Emily beamed. "Do you have any idea how much it turns me on when you expose your nerdy side to me?"

"Is _that_ a yes?"

"Yes, it is a yes," Emily confirmed.

He pulled her closer, kissing her softly on the lips. Derek was glad of her answer but still rather confused. "I don't think I'll ever understand you, Emily Prentiss. The other day you said you had no plans to walk away from me and today you try to push me and the baby away?"

"This is a completely different situation," Emily defended. "You said so yourself. This involves me being a full time mom, which I wasn't sure you'd want."

"Even after I told you I wished you were the one pregnant?" Derek pressed.

"I never claimed to be a rational person," she chuckled. Emily grew serious again a moment later. "I'm not going to lie to you about this, but being Stella's mother scares the shit out me," she confessed. "What the hell are the two of us going to do with a baby? Kind of like the blind leading the blind, isn't it?"

Morgan smiled. "First, we should really stop swearing in front of her," he suggested.

Emily cringed. "You're probably right about that."

"Second…" he shrugged. "I guess we buy some diapers and read a few parenting books?"

Looking down at the newborn, Emily's head shook. "Don't worry, little star, we'll pay for your therapy."

"We could probably get a good family rate," Derek concluded.

Noticing the bottle was half full, Emily helped Derek position the baby against his shoulder to burp her. She watched as he gently patted the girl's back. "You know what this means, don't you? You'll have to trade in your Harley for a minivan."

His eyes grew wide. "Oh no," Derek replied as the baby let go a decent burp. He resituated the newborn in Emily arms and handed her the bottle. "You're the mommy, you can drive the minivan. Because the day I give up my Harley is the day I make you give up your hot tub."

With a chuckle, Emily nodded. "On second thought… we could just buy her a little pink motorcycle helmet that says: born to be wild. Then we'll rig up a motorcycle car seat for her and take her on a road trip. It'll be great."

Derek's head shook with delight. "Okay, Ms. Smarty Pants. I'm going to buy her a baby-sized life vest and then maybe I can finally get an invite to your hot tub."

They were both still laughing when someone knocked on the door.

"Mr. Morgan," a sandy-haired young man greeted them. He turned to Emily. "You must be the baby's mother?" his hand extended until he realized she couldn't shake.

"Emily Prentiss," she replied.

"Kyle Volley, pediatric intern," he introduced, dropping his hand. "I examined your daughter earlier and all results look good. Lungs and heart sound great. According to the biological mother's medical records, which were on file here from a visit last week, it appears that the baby was born about twelve days early, but that's still term… six pounds, three ounces, nineteen inches long. And the fact that she's eating well is great, means you should be able to take her home by this evening."

"Really?" Emily was surprised. "What about the fact that I used a paperclip on her umbilical cord?"

The intern smiled. "Not ideal, but under the circumstances I understand you did what you felt was best. There's no sign of infection, and I'm sure you'll watch it closely."

"I will," Emily was relieved, but still a little hesitant about taking a newborn home. "I was talking to my co-worker earlier. She told me you're supposed to sterilize baby bottles, which I did not know, and didn't do the first time I fed the baby a few hours ago. And I used soy based formula, but she says there are different kinds. How can I know which is right?"

Again the young man smiled reassuringly. "In regard to not sterilizing that one bottle, I think she'll live," he informed the new mom. "And as long as she seems to be digesting well, regular bowl movements and not too much spit-up, then the formula should be fine. If not, you can try some others," he concluded. "Do you have any other questions or concerns?"

Morgan and Emily exchanged a shrug. "Not now, but I'll probably think of ten things the second you step out the door," she replied.

"If you do, feel free to track me down," Volley offered. "The nurse will let you know when you can leave. She'll also schedule a follow up appointment for the next day or two."

The doctor was barely gone when JJ poked her head into the room. "Are you three up for a few visitors?" she asked.

Derek waved the team inside, glad to see that Rossi had made it back from Milwaukee. "You let Harris go?" he asked the agent.

"After I told him about Jessica Tatenum's death," Dave nodded. "But I'd rather not talk about death in the presence of such a beautiful girl," he added, his eyes aimed on the baby.

"Why, thank you," Emily joked.

Laughter once again filled the room as the agents fawned over Stella. But the team didn't stay long. Hotch hung back until the others slipped out of the room. "I'll clear a few weeks for both of you," he let them know. "Most people have nearly a year to prepare for becoming full-time parents, not hours," he understood.

"What about our family situation when we return to Quantico?" Derek referred to his and Emily's relationship. "What about Strauss?"

"I'll talk to Strauss," Hotch replied. "But that's all I can promise. Right now you should enjoy getting to know your daughter."

When Hotch left he held the door open so Rawson could enter. "You hitching a ride back with the team?" Morgan asked the man.

"No," Mick replied. "I received a call from Sam about a half hour ago. He needs me in California right away. I've got a commercial flight to catch in a short bit. But I wanted to make sure the three of you were alright."

Morgan nodded. "Thanks to you," he stood and reached for the man's hand.

Mick smiled as they shook. "Well, I knew from the moment Emily asked me along that the two of you would be too emotionally invested in this case. I came because I had a feeling you might need my impartial help."

"Not exactly impartial," Emily smiled. "Helping out friends," she concluded.

"I suppose not," Rawson agreed. He leaned forward to place a kiss against Emily's cheek then quickly looked to Derek in the hopes the agent wouldn't pummel him. "You're a very lucky man. I hope you don't ever take what you've got here for granted, mate."

"Never," Derek promised.

Emily was intrigued as she watched Rawson exit. "Did you make a new friend while I was gone?"

"Something like that," Morgan kissed her.

The revolving door of their small exam room let Fran Morgan enter just moments after Mick's exit. The fiery-haired woman stood before her son and Emily for a moment, hands upon her hips. "A mother wouldn't know what was going on with her children if she didn't watch the news on occasion," she finally spoke. "The two of you rushed out of my place, then a day and half later I find you at a hospital with a newborn, and your supervisor telling me the child is my granddaughter?"

Derek hugged his mother. "I'm so sorry you had to find out like this, mama."

Fran finally smiled. "I imagine you are," she gave in. "And I'm sure you have a lengthy explanation for all of it. But right now I'd like to meet my granddaughter."

xxx

Emily sat on the edge of Fran's bed and re-snapped the baby's pink and white polka dot outfit. Stella had just eaten and now had a clean diaper, which Emily hoped meant she'd take a nap for most of their journey home to DC. They'd stayed with Fran for two weeks, but it was time to return because at least one of them needed to be working again. Emily swaddled the baby, just as Fran had taught her. Then she scooped the little girl into her arms.

There was a soft knock on the door before Fran entered. "You two about ready?" the woman asked.

"Yes, and you don't need to knock on your own bedroom door," Emily smiled, eternally grateful to the woman for all her help the last few weeks. "I'm sure you'll be glad to get your room and your bed back. I stripped the bed and put clean sheets on for you."

Fran smiled. "You didn't have to do that," she insisted. "And I've been fine in the guest room. I didn't want you and Derek at some hotel all this time."

"You mean you didn't want Stella even a block away," Emily knew, having seen the woman bond quickly with her grandchild.

"You might be right," Fran agreed, taking the baby into her arms. "I'm going to miss you, little star."

The fact that even Morgan's mother had adopted that nickname pleased Emily a great deal. "I'm going to miss you," she let Fran know. "I honestly don't know how I'm going to do this without you," she confessed her trepidation.

"You've been doing great, Emily," Fran replied. "Even before I entered the scene. You took care of her all by yourself those first few hours," she reminded.

"I just hope she's not disappointed to have me as her mother."

"Would you stop with that nonsense," Fran scolded. "I believe children choose their parents. Stella chose you to be her mommy. She knew she wanted a mom who was willing to die for her, rather than one who wanted to die with her." She glanced down at the child again. "After I had each of my babies, Sid would hold them for the first time and he'd tell them how happy he was that they'd chosen me as their mother and him as their father," she recalled. "He loved them so much."

Derek cleared his throat, standing in the open doorway. "Is this the sappy part of our goodbye?" he asked.

Fran handed the baby back to Emily and went to hug her son. "You know I'm going to call every day. And I'll be visiting for Christmas, if not sooner," she vowed. Her head rested against Derek's shoulder. "I love you so much. And I've very proud of you, so is your father. He's always been watching over us, and now Emily and Stella as well."

Emily watched as Derek tried to school his emotions in front of his mother. "I need a hug, too," she interrupted, hoping to save him from completely losing it.

"Of course," Fran sniffed, pulling away from her son and hugging Emily. "And you call if you need anything, advice or even just an ear to bend."

"I will," Emily agreed. They'd all grown closer the last two weeks.

A horn honked from the street below. "Our cab to the airport," Derek noted as he grabbed the diaper bag.

After several more hugs and farewell wishes, they eventually made it out of Fran's apartment and into the cab. The baby slept soundly all the way to the airport, through the check-in process and the long line at the security checkpoint, even during boarding and right up until they pulled away from the gate. Then she pretty much screamed her head off for the whole flight, squirming and not wanting to even take a bottle, which was normally her favorite pastime.

When Emily exited the cab outside her condo building she sighed with relief. "So, we should probably think about taking road trips for the rest of our lives."

Derek chuckled. "I'm okay with that," he agreed, paying the cab driver and grabbing their meager belongings. Once they were upstairs, he keyed Emily's lock and guided them inside.

"You sure about this?" Emily asked. "Living here? You still have some properties, don't you?"

He nodded and dropped their bags in the entry hall. "But they all hold bad memories for me."

She suddenly remembered that Tamara had harassed him at those places, including throwing a pipe and splitting his forehead open. Emily hated that she'd done those things, created those scars on him, but she did her best to move past it. "So, you'll sell those places. And maybe we'll buy a house of our own someday."

"I'd like that," Morgan replied. "But right now I just want to sleep. And since the princess has finally fallen asleep again…"

"But you promised you'd go buy one of those portable crib things when we got home, and some other stuff," Emily reminded him. "We don't have anywhere for Stella to sleep. And we barely have enough diapers to last us the night."

"It's already late, Emily," he complained, guiding her and the baby toward the stairs. "I'll go first thing in the morning," Derek amended the deal, but his level of tiredness dropped rapidly when they reached the second floor. "I think we should take Stella to the roof terrace, show her some stars."

Looking down at the baby, Emily discovered a few holes in his plan. One being that the infant couldn't see far enough to notice a starry sky. Two being the fact that, "She's sleeping."

His hand rested against Emily's lower back. "But it will make her feel at home, right?"

Emily frowned, wondering what he was really up to. She didn't have to wonder long when they approached her spare room. Emily instantly noticed that the walls had been painted a different color. "You sneaky little…" Emily smiled as she entered the room. The color was a soft shade of lavender. A white crib, changing table and dresser occupied three walls in the room. There were diapers, wipes, baby thermometer, and everything else a nursery could possibly need stacked on shelves. Even a baby monitor. "How did you pull this off?"

"I asked Hotch and the rest of the team for help," Derek confessed.

She carefully laid Stella in the crib, which was adorned with a multi-colored polka dot bumper and sheet set. Emily spotted the name plaque hanging on the wall above the crib. The letters were painted aqua and they each had little yellow stars on them. "It's perfect."

"And now the two of us…" Derek took her hand and led her away from the sleeping baby, "Can actually get some rest without the baby being in the same room."

Sure to grab the baby monitor before they exited, Emily was pretty certain he didn't have actual sleep in mind. Her suspicion was confirmed when he kicked their bedroom door closed, took the baby monitor from her hands and sat it on the bedside table then proceeded to kiss her neck. Emily felt her tired body come alive as he worked his way along her shoulder and finally pulled her shirt off. The bandage on her arm was much smaller, her wound nearly healed, aside from a small scar that would likely always remain.

"You smell like baby powder," Derek whispered in her ear.

"A lot better than some baby related things I could smell like," she grinned.

He backed her against the bed and then gently laid her down upon it. "Indeed," he replied wantonly, standing above her while he fumbled with the zipper of his jeans like some love-struck teenaged virgin. "Two weeks is way too long to go without being with you," Derek confessed.

Emily remained relaxed against the bed, watching with amusement as he eagerly shimmied out of his cumbersome jeans and boxer briefs. "Not my fault someone felt uncomfortable about doing it in their mother's bed," she chuckled.

"Please do not mention my mother right now," he begged. With his own clothing shed, he proceeded to strip the rest of hers off. Then Derek climbed atop the bed, straddling her beneath him. "And please let the baby sleep for at least another thirty minutes."

"By the looks of things," her head shook a little. "You won't last ten," she teased, reaching up to pull him even closer.

xxx

It was only twenty minutes later when Stella's hungry cry greeted them via the baby monitor.

"Your turn," Emily poked his stomach, her head resting against his warm chest.

"How is it my turn?" he pondered. "This'll be her first feeding since being home."

She was impressed by how easily they'd slipped into their domestic life together. "Being in a different house or state doesn't change the rules. I gave her the last bottle. I also held Miss Cranky Pants for pretty much the whole plane ride. I think I deserve a little break," Emily stated her case.

He reluctantly extracted himself from her side and the cozy bed. "Fine, but I won't point out that you didn't do a very good job keeping her quiet on the plane." Seconds later a pillow collided with the back of his head and Morgan laughed. He exited the room and returned a moment later with the baby.

Emily sat up, gathering the sheets around her. "Jeez, Morgan. Put some clothes on before you scar your poor daughter for life," she chuckled as he placed the baby in her lap.

Derek gave Emily a quick kiss. "I was going to grab some sweats, but they're downstairs in my bag. I'll be back in a flash with that bottle."

The cranky baby snuggled up in her mother's arms. Emily stroked her little cheek, something she'd come to realize helped calm the girl. True to his word, Derek returned within a few minutes with sweatpants on a warmed bottle in hand. He settled back on the bed next to Emily. "Okay, hand her over."

"Nah," Emily replied. "She's comfy now. I'll do it," she took the bottle from him and the baby instantly latched on.

Morgan snuggled up to Emily, resting his head against hers. "You okay?"

A small nod was given. "Just tired."

"I meant… after all that happened," Derek expanded. "With the baby and all we haven't really talked about you being taken by Jessop and…"

"Derek, really," she interrupted. "I'm good. Taking care of Stella has helped me more than you could know. I believe I was meant to be taken by Jessop so I could be there for Stella, to protect her. And…" Emily took a breath. "I want to stay with her."

"I thought we already established that?" Morgan was curious.

"What I mean is I want to stay home with her, instead of returning to work," she explained.

"Emily," he was surprised to say the least. "I'd never ask that of you. You "borrow" cars and chase down the bad guys like no one else I know. And I understand your independent streak. I don't want you to feel cooped up or obligated. We can get a nanny, daycare. People do it all the time these days. Women can work and have a family."

As she shifted the baby to be burped, Emily turned a smile his way. "I know I told you that I didn't need you," she felt a little sad to repeat those words.

"_Wanting_ to be with me is better," he smiled in return.

"I do believe Stella needs me," Emily patted the girl's back and gained a burp for her efforts. Along with a bit of spit-up on her bare shoulder, which she wiped with the sheet. "Fran told me she believes children choose their parents, and I want to thank Stella for choosing me. I thought I'd never get this chance, but our little star," she cradled the baby again. "She made those twelve-year-old girl's dreams come true. And maybe I'll be ready to return to work after only a month. But I want to do this," she insisted.

He pressed his lips against her temple, kissing her with an abundance of respect and pride. "You know I love you, right?" Derek whispered. His hand rested against hers, both of them wrapped around the baby's bottle. "If this is what you really want I won't try to stop you. In fact, the caveman side of my brain is screaming, YES!" he chuckled.

Emily laughed. "I figured."

Morgan gently caressed her hand as he gazed down lovingly at Stella. "I never imagined our lives ending up like this, but I'm glad they did," he let Emily know. "And I'll do everything in my power to hold on to this family of ours. Which means I swear I will never lie to you again, Emily," Derek declared. "I promise to never do anything to warrant seeing that disappointed look in your eyes again," he promised.

She turned her head; another small smile perched on her lips. "Sounds kind of like wedding vows to me."

"But not like any we've experienced the last few months," Derek shook his head. "Because my vows to you also include worshiping your gorgeous body every chance I get. Taking you and Stella on a road trip at least once a year. Finding us a home where we can gaze at stars in the back yard, find a spot for your hot tub. And where you can finally have a real cat."

"In that case, I promise to let you worship my body," she joined in. "Gaze at stars and soak in the hot tub with you. Welcome any cat that might come into our lives. Always be there to listen and never hesitate to tell you what's on my mind. I promise to love you and Stella," Emily thought about Fran in that moment, and how the woman believed Sid Morgan was still watching over them. "Not until death do us part," she continued. "And not all the days of my life, but… forever."

"Always," Derek added.

Emily captured his lips with hers and helped seal those vows with a kiss.

Stella's little hand reached up to grasp theirs.

* * *

><p><strong>The End<strong>

_The end, just in time for me to do my holiday baking and cleaning! Thank you all so much for reading, commenting and enjoying this little story of mine. I really appreciate your support. Now, what to write next?_


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